A Single Pale Flower
by Acqua Sole
Summary: In a world full of cruelty and uncertainty, it's hard to have courage and be kind. But even the smallest of gestures can change that sort of world for the better, and for Nino, it's what will protect her when she finds herself in the middle of a conflict that could put the fate of Elibe at stake. A FE7 adaptation of Cinderella.
1. The League Reunites (Maidenhair Fern)

HEELLOOOOO! I'm back on my bullsh*t! Instead of working some more on my thesis, or even going back to my other fics, my brain decided that this idea could absolutely not leave me alone until I published it! And here we are again with a new installment in Tales of the Emblem!

Cinderella has always been such a strange story: multiple versions of it are found across different cultures, even going back as far as Ancient Egypt, and yet the gist of the story and its elements have managed to stay true across time. It's one of the most well-known and beloved fairy tales, with Disney especially having made big bucks off adapting it into its princess line and practically immortalising pop culture's image of Cinderella as a blonde idealist who sings to mice and wears a beautiful silver-blue gown. I want to research as much as I can from as many versions as I can so I can create something familiar yet unique for everyone who's grown up with at least one version of Cinderella––including myself!

Before we dive in, I would just like to admit that I'm not as familiar with Elibe as I would like to be, but I definitely consider Blazing Blade to be one of the best games in the Fire Emblem series (along with Magvel and Tellius; I'd like to include Three Houses here because I've heard nothing but great things about it, but I haven't played it yet! Hopefully I can get my hands on a copy as well as a Switch by the end of the year…). It's got a strong narrative, beautiful art, interesting gameplay…and I hope I can do that justice here. Alternatively, feel free to correct me when I get anything wrong.

Many, many thanks to the unforgettable newmrsdewinter and Arihime for betaing this chapter and for being such a delight on Discord! Please read their fics too!

* * *

Robed people shuffled as quietly as they could into the room. As the hallway was lit only by a few dim torch lights, soft murmurs of apology were heard as the people jostled briefly at the doorway. With everyone finally inside, a cloaked head poked out into the hallway, cautiously, verifying the absence of any eavesdroppers. They nodded to the guards watching over them before closing the door with a low creak.

The sound of rustling cloth filled the room as the company disrobed and discarded their improvised disguises; burlap fell away to reveal men and women of all shapes and colours and sizes from across Elibe. They greeted each other and inquired after their health and families as they took their seats at a grand round table.

"Welcome, everyone!" A man with dark ginger hair and smiling blue eyes sat at the head of the table. He was flanked by a massive blue-haired man, strong and square of jaw, and a smaller, green-haired lady whose lithe build and broad face denoted her as a woman of the plains. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I trust you all know why you were summoned here, so we can get to—"

He was interrupted by one of the men. "Pardon me, Eliwood, but in our case, we _don't_. I know we're supposed to be hush-hush about our activities, but Juno and I were literally summoned from our beds in the dead of night. We were thankfully able to leave the baby with her nurses."

A chorus murmured their sympathies. Despite their loyalty to the League and their work, it was rather disconcerting to travel so late in the night for a meeting. What could possibly be so urgent that the Earl of Pherae necessitated their immediate presence?

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Zelot," Eliwood said, bowing his head in contrition. "I understand the difficulty of answering our call, and I thank you all for heeding it regardless. However, we wouldn't have asked for you if we didn't have a good enough reason…I'm afraid that what we heard was convincing enough for us to organise an immediate session."

The mood turned sombre as the gathering whispered amongst themselves, leaning in towards Eliwood apprehensively.

"He's been found?"

"Not quite…we've received credible reports of threats being made against Prince Zephiel's life."

More whispering. The men and women frowned and shook their heads, puzzled and more than a little surprised. A young warrior with messy gray hair raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Look, I don't want to sound callous or anything, but what's so important about that to our mission? I've received dozens of death threats myself. I get piles of letters, read them at breakfast, and then use 'em as kindling."

The room shared a laugh at that, and the gathering swapped brief stories of similar incidents in their lives. Eliwood smiled tightly at the brief suspension of tension, glancing at his friends sitting on either side of him, but did not chuckle along with everyone else.

"I agree with Echidna, Eliwood," Juno said. She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Though, out of curiosity, I have to ask; why? What on earth could young Zephiel have done to warrant such things? It's not as though he's particularly politically powerful…"

Discussion broke out amongst the assembly as they wondered. "Yes, Desmond rules Bern, not him—"

"And Zephiel's so popular with the people. Beloved, in fact—"

"Desmond has made quite sure to not yield a single inch to his poor son—"

"Who on earth could hate _Zephiel _of all people? Why would anyone want him dead?"

Eliwood's green-haired companion rapped her knuckles sharply against the table and cleared her throat to regain their attention.

"Thank you, Lyn," Eliwood murmured gratefully. He too cleared his throat. "As you all know, Zephiel has requested that we grant him a membership in the League despite the difficulty of achieving it, and added to the fact that he wants to hide it from his father. It was during one of our conversations that he swore me to secrecy in exchange for revealing the true nature of the Fire Emblem."

It fell so silent that a pin drop could be heard.

"W…what do you mean, 'the true nature of the Fire Emblem?'" Echidna whispered.

The people turned their collective attention to one of their members: an old man of imposing height and a long, venerable white beard and mane.

"Athos…?" a woman prompted timidly.

Athos moved slowly, mountain-like, as he rested his chin between his forefinger and thumb, deep in thought. The room waited with bated breath to hear his wisdom.

"We had our suspicions," he finally spoke in that deep, gravelly voice of his. "Hartmut told us that he created the Emblem for purely symbolic reasons…to atone for our role in the Ending Winter. We never questioned him for it, especially after Melita…we left him to it in spite of ourselves."

"So he lied to you and the others?" a silver-haired man queried.

"Not quite. He simply omitted some pertinent details. We never pressed the matter due to his grief."

"So you have an idea of what this 'true nature' is."

"Somewhat." Athos leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. "I would rather Eliwood explain it to you all in my stead."

Eliwood bowed his head respectfully to the elder. "I'll try as best as I can." He cleared his throat again. "Zephiel said that the Fire Emblem's true purpose is tied to the Shrine of Seals. Upon a king of Bern's coronation, the Emblem, should it choose to give its blessings, reveals the Shrine's location to him, as well as that of the Dragon Temple."

An instant uproar was raised over the news, voices tumbling over another in a frenzy as the full weight of the news hit them.

"The Shrine of Seals?! But I thought that was a myth!" an old healer cried.

"We were told there are only _eight _hiding places—"

"Athos, you knew about this and never told us?" a priestess of St. Elimine said, sounding concerned and more than a little wounded.

The sage's hulking, tattooed bodyguard, a desert warrior, answered for him. "He has his reasons," he growled.

Lyn added her own thoughts. "The less people knew about it, the better. Only these are special circumstances that forced our hand and require the League's full attention. With Nergal's goal being to seek out the dragons—"

"Knowing of the Shrine and Temple could lead him to the Dragon's Gate and Arcadia," Echidna finished for her soberly.

The room fell into silence once more, only this time, it was far more protracted and tense.

"Has Nergal caught wind of this?" a burly Bernese chieftain demanded.

"We're afraid so," Eliwood's male companion replied, his jaw tight. "Hence the death threats…he's trying to find a way to the Emblem through Zephiel."

"But Hector, Desmond is king, not Zephiel. Why would Nergal target the prince instead?"

"That's part of what we're trying to find out."

Zelot hummed, his brow screwed up in deep concentration as he processed the information. "Not to be rude…but is there any proof of this? Nergal is cunning and wily; he's led us on more than one wild goose chase before. With so many dead ends, false leads, and inconclusive hints, how can you three be so sure that this is what he's planning? How will this help us finally catch him?"

Hector raised his hand and opened his mouth to say something, but, frowning, realised that someone was missing. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Of all the times to be pulling this," he grumbled under his breath. He leaned far back in his chair. "MATTHEW!" he bellowed.

One of the tapestries decorating the tower room rustled and shifted, to the surprise of many, and a lean young man with sandy brown hair emerged from behind it with a scowl. "Would it kill you to let me have my moment?" he whined.

"Yes," Hector deadpanned. "Now is not the time for dramatic entrances."

"Aw, come on! Any time can be a good time. A little razzle-dazzle is great for lightening the mood."

"Just get to your report and be done with it."

Matthew, pouting, exhaled through his nose dramatically. "Killjoy," he muttered.

The room, baffled, watched the display in stunned silence. It was a complete change of mood from their previously serious discussion. Lyn and Eliwood were doing a poor job of hiding their smiles behind their hands.

"_Anyways,_" Matthew started. "Though I may not look like it, I'm _great_ at my job. And part of that includes knowing how to create a tight and well-oiled informant system. Ladies and gents, consider this your lucky day, because I managed to plant a mole within the Black Fang."

Whispers and murmurs broke out incredulously. Confused glances were exchanged. "What exactly does the Black Fang have to do with Nergal and Zephiel?" A blonde Etrurian ventured bluntly.

Her silver-haired partner nodded in agreement. "They only go after corrupt nobility, yes? Zephiel is most certainly not corrupt. And what interest would they have in the Fire Emblem?"

"Now this is where things get interesting." Matthew grinned, rubbing his hands together. He produced a sheaf of papers from the depths of his bright scarlet cloak and fanned them out on the table. "My source tells me that Nergal has managed to take control of the Black Fang from within. He accomplished this by having his subordinates gain the trust of the Fang's leadership, allowing them to become members, and they quickly climbed the ranks to positions of authority. How they got this far with such an infamously mistrusting bunch, we're not sure yet—but we're working on it, rest assured. Whoever Nergal has in there is pretty damn good, as they seem to have changed the Fang's entire business model in one fell swoop."

"What do you mean?" Juno knitted her brows in confusion.

"Remember what we said about the Black Fang attacking corrupt nobility? Doesn't seem to be the case anymore; they're taking contracts _from them_ instead, and even employing them. Does the name 'Count Landskron' ring any bells?"

The expressions of the Bernese amongst them turned instantly thunderous and dark. "Yes," the headman from before snarled. "Is that murderous scum one of theirs now?"

"Correct. In fact, my source's original mission was tracking him down for a Bernese client as a favour to Lord Hector, but once he was found…the trail led to Nergal."

Matthew distributed the documents around the table, waiting patiently by Hector's seat as the crisp sound of paper brushing against skin and cloth filled the silence. The company talked quietly to each other as they compared the notes and shared their concerns.

"Eliwood, Lyndis, and Hector," Athos pronounced. "You have done well. Your findings have brought us a great deal closer to capturing Nergal and finally bringing him to face justice. What you have presented to us is very grave news indeed. The results of Nergal gaining access to the Emblem will be absolutely catastrophic. We must not let that come to pass under any circumstance."

Echidna, growling, brought down her closed fist on the table. "But I don't understand! How could Nergal have gotten wind of the Fire Emblem in the first place?"

A clamour of agreements rose to meet her frustrations.

"Why did Nergal choose the Black Fang to do his bidding?"

"And how could he have gained control over them so easily?"

Lyn restored order by pounding the butt of her sword strongly against the table, lest she be forced to shout them down. "Please, everyone, calm yourselves!"

"Lyn, it's all right," Eliwood reassured. "I know everyone here feels very strongly about Landskron and Nergal—" he was briefly interrupted before Hector shot the assembly a sharp look, "—but we have to go about this with extreme care. He's slipped out of our fingers before, and he can do it again. Now that we have a solid lead, we must take as many precautions as we can to avoid a repeat of our past mistakes. And whatever it is we don't know yet will be revealed in due time. But mark my words, we _will_ capture Nergal. I swear it."

* * *

WOOOOO! Finally got this chapter out! I'm amazed at how short it is compared to my other Fire Emblem fic chapters so far…but that might change in the future! And that's still not counting in my thesis hours and all that other stuff, hahaha…but I do feel a sense of relief that I'm not bottling this story up anymore.

Now if only I had more time to the billion other ones I want to start now too…


	2. Cinder Girl (Daisy)

Hello everyone! I'm ignoring my thesis again, and I've managed to bring out yet another chapter under ten pages! Anxiety is one heck of a motivator, hahahaha. That being said, I did have fun writing this, and I'll focus on chapter 16 of TCaH next, seeing as I've already got a six-page draft on that one. I'm also thinking of retooling Get the Guy; I never abandon stories, but I think that reworking it is necessary considering that my vision for it has changed.

Thanks so much to **TheFreeLancerSeal!** I always feel very happy when I see a review from you in my inbox. And I'm glad to see that you like the adaptations—though I'm not sure how you'd feel about _Reaching for Empyrean,_ considering its higher rating, more explicit approach to darker subjects, and a Henry/Sumia pairing! I have many, many more adaptations planned, but I need time for those, and I also definitely need to get myself a copy of Three Houses…but I am happy to see some love for Blazing Blade. Games 7-10 really snapped with everything from story to art to combat, and I'm super excited to hear that you've given Three Houses your seal (pun intended, hehe) of approval.

As usual, dedicated betas like **newmrsdewinter** make these stories possible. Please go show her some love, drop a review in her inbox—and remember to thank your own betas too!

* * *

All was quiet at before dawn. Not even the mice, living snugly within the walls, made a single peep. Darkness hid the kitchen and its contents save for the faint glow of the hearth's embers.

A small pile of rags laid out before it stirred. With a soft yawn, the pile raised itself sleepily, revealing a scrawny girl rubbing her eyes. It took her a bit to adjust to the darkness, but she knew the routine by now: taking up the poker she slept next to, the girl prodded tiredly at the banked ashes until the fire crackled back to life and bathed the kitchen in a weak light and warmth. She moved the ashes around some more and added scraps of old newspaper to fuel it further.

Knowing she had to be quick, the girl removed the chipped basin she had placed in the hearth the night before and dipped a grimy rag into the warmed water. She rubbed and scrubbed at her dirty, soot-streaked skin as best she could until she felt quite raw. Then she ran the cloth over her straggly short mane in a futile attempt to tame it before she exchanged her threadbare nightshirt for clothes that were not better off.

She had to work fast to make the big breakfast the mistresses of the house were so fond of. Tying a greasy, stained apron over her dress, the girl set out the ingredients: eggs to be soft-boiled and eaten with toast; thick rashers of bacon and fat fingerlike sausages; dough to make the crust for pear pie; spices to dress up the coffee and tea that the ladies took with their meal. She was a diligent worker whose small, deft hands had the kitchen smelling strongly of cookery and food in no time at all. The sun climbed steadily higher in the sky as she toiled, filling the room with bright, golden light.

Suddenly, the set of three bells hung below the window started to ring—first the middle one, then the second, in increasingly rapid bursts.

The girl panicked. She was still missing the eggs. She tapped her foot anxiously as she prayed, begging them to cook faster, yet not set so hard as to ruin the perfect runniness needed to be eaten along with the toast. She snatched them up from the pot the moment the sand dial finished, burning her fingers, and arranged them delicately into their designated cups along with everything else on the tray. Satisfied, the girl balanced it carefully over her head as she exited the dependency and made her way to the house.

* * *

"Where have you been?" The woman raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow as the girl set the tray down on the sideboard.

"I–I'm sorry Mother, I was just—" the girl tried to apologise.

"How many times do I have to remind you not to call me that? It's such an _uncouth_ word…it makes me seem older than I am."

"Y–yes, I'm sorry mo—I'm sorry, Madame Sonia."

Sonia watched silently as her daughter set the table—pewter plates instead of wooden trenchers (as the latter were much too coarse and common for Sonia's taste), then pewter cutlery and drinking vessels, then the food, steaming hot, and the drinks at the very end—waiting for her chair to be pulled out for her. She arranged her lacy nightdress fastidiously on her seat as the girl carefully draped a cloth napkin over her lap and served her. Those were part of the rules: Sonia, as the head of the house, was always attended first. Ursula was so enamoured with Sonia that she expected nothing less for her idol, whilst Limstella was unconcerned.

"Honestly," Ursula snickered behind her hand as the girl placed an egg and toast before her. "You'd think she'd have learned by now, given that she makes that mistake all the time…well, what mistakes _hasn't _she made?" She laughed as she cracked open her egg with a spoon.

"At this point, I don't know whether to call it ignorance or incompetence. Maybe both," Sonia sighed.

The girl stayed mute as she cracked Sonia's egg and carefully peeled off the top segment for her, then divvied up the rest of her breakfast into painstakingly proportioned pieces. She flinched as a sudden slap to her wrist stung her skin.

"_Be careful._" Sonia's eyes flashed in warning. "Your hands are covered in soot and I don't want them contaminating the food. When was the last time you washed?"

The girl, swallowing, barely managed to stammer out a reply. "I—j-just this morning—"

"No amount of soap is going to clean off little cinder-girl," Ursula scoffed. "It's a miracle there's someone still there under all that filth!" A peal of laughter from her mouth rang loudly in the dining room, Sonia joining in with a small chuckle.

The girl said nothing.

"Nino." Limstella, who had been observing the scene with their usual apathy, raised their pewter mug slightly. "I would like more tea, please."

A brilliant smile broke out on the poor girl's dirty face at hearing her name used. She served them a piping hot cupful of chamomile tea and skipped back to the kitchen to fetch more with a new spring in her step.

"Limstella, you've got to stop all this coddling," Sonia scolded. "She won't learn if you keep holding her hand and babying her over every little thing."

Limstella's only reply was a barely discernible sip.

* * *

Nino's schedule was a never-ending parade of chores and attending to every single one of Sonia and Ursula's needs: after cleaning up breakfast she helped them disrobe and enact a complicated bathing ritual that called for several lotions, oils, and creams; then came an hour of trying on countless dresses and robes and jewels until the ladies were satisfied with their appearances.

After brushing their hair, Nino was sent outside to tend to the animals and garden on their property. Feeding hungry goats, checking the ripeness of the berry patch, and fleeing the wrath of famished chickens took up the rest of the morning. Then she gathered ingredients from the garden and delivered them to Ursula, Sonia and Limstella, who used them in the potions workshop adjacent to the library.

Nino then dusted and swept and mopped around the house and would come running if anyone spilled eye of newt or essence of borage in the workshop.

Dinner was next.

More dusting, more sweeping, more mopping.

Ursula was feeling peckish and demanded afternoon tea and pastries.

More dusting, more sweeping, more mopping.

An ink smudge on Sonia's dress meant Nino had to run to the wardrobe to fetch a clean change of clothes and throw the stained garment into the wash basket.

Dusting, sweeping, mopping.

Then came supper, an hour long discussion between the three supplemented with nightcaps, and helping them into their nightgowns and turning down their beds before sleep.

A final round of dusting, sweeping, and mopping was the prelude to Nino gathering up the wash and scrubbing hard at the mountain of clothes with a harsh mixture of tallow and lye. As the sun had long gone down, she draped them over the hearth's greenpole and spread them out inside the ovens.

Nino wiped the sweat off her brow, leaned back, and sighed.

She prepared herself a simple supper of thin porridge and a hard hunk of cheese. Gathering up the copper lamp and tinderbox she kept hidden in a secret corner of the kitchen, Nino struck a light for the lamp, bundled herself up as best she could against the night chill, and set off into the dark.

Even with the lamp guiding her, she knew the way by heart. The organised planter boxes and patches where their vegetables and fruit grew soon gave way to meadowy chaos and wildflowers. Nino quite liked to stretch out her hand and feel the long grass and flowers tickle her skin as she walked.

She soon arrived at her destination: a creek that flowed at the very back of the property and separated it from the vast forest that led to the mountains. It was a wonderfully private space shaded by low hanging trees and tall grass and many different kinds of flowers.

But Nino had her eye on a particular tree.

Jumping the creek with a long running start, Nino made her way to the lush hazel growing near the bank. The sound of crickets and night birds soothed her as she spread her patchy shawl out on the ground and sat next to the small stump of a stone nestled at the tree's base. She always made sure that the flowers surrounding them were cared for, too.

"Hello, Father," Nino greeted as usual. "It's been a long day again. I burned my fingers while making breakfast and the Major scratched me at feeding time. But I'm getting really good at baking pies! Even though I mess up a lot with my crusts, it's fun seeing how dough and fruit turn into a pie. I haven't been able to try them much, though…Mother says it's bad to be greedy and hoard food. I'm just glad she likes my cooking now."

She allowed herself a pause as she gazed out at the creek, enjoying the scent of earth and water, and the sensation of the tree's bark against her back.

"Mother and Ursula and Limstella are still busy with their potions. Mother says it's none of my business, but I'm still curious what they're for. I'd like to try making potions one day, too, but it seems awfully complicated and a lot more dangerous than simple baking. So I guess I should listen to Mother and stay away from all that. I don't like it when I hurt myself when I cook, and I'll probably just make a worse mess if I try my hand. At least I'm not pricking myself so much anymore when I do my needlework," Nino babbled on.

She found solace in her nightly visits to the hazel tree and found that they helped to clear her mind. Though her father stayed completely silent, Nino cherished her talks with him, feeling as if he were truly listening to her every word—she could picture him perfectly, with his usual taciturn expression and deep, thoughtful replies.

"Mother told me not to call her mother again. She says it makes her feel old. I remember what you told me about different strokes, but it doesn't feel right to call her 'Madame Sonia.' But I dislike it more when Ursula calls me 'cinder-girl.'"

Stroking the headstone gently, Nino was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness. She desperately missed her father. She missed her brothers and wondered where they were, worrying terribly over their safety. She missed their old house in Glarus and the view across to Sacae and playing in the river and seeing herds of wild horses gallop across the land and the beautiful fiery sunsets that marked the end of each day.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Nino confessed quietly. "I know you told me to have courage and be kind. I know I'm not the cleverest, or strongest, or swiftest, or anything above average, really. But it seems that, no matter how hard I try…I just can't seem to get anything right. Mother is always unhappy. Ursula doesn't like me. Limstella doesn't seem to care either way. And I just don't know what to do."

She stood up unsteadily, not realising until now that her legs had gone numb. Nino gazed out at the creek's moonlit surface, feeling the soft wind rustle through her hair and the grass, and heaved a heavy, tired sigh.

"I just want Mother to be proud of me."

With another sigh, she picked up her lamp and trekked back to her cold, dirty spot next to the hearth, hoping that the fire's faint embers would keep her warm tonight.

* * *

I still can't believe this is under ten pages.

As a quick note, this fic has a specific time period in mind; just like how To Chase a Hart is based on Elizabethan Britain's timeframe, and how Reaching for Empyrean takes its cues from between the 1100s–early 1300s, A Single Pale Flower was born from researching into the late 1600s–mid 1700s. As such, I'm dusting off my older sister's copies of American Girl books (haha) and other stuff to put in pertinent details of those times.

For example: a dependency is a type of outbuilding kept separate from the main living area. A dependency could be anything from a kitchen to a smokehouse to a milkhouse, and larger, well to-do homes often had many different dependencies. Their point was to keep the main house free from food related messes and odours and even the risk of fire; however, they were also a way to separate the servants (and slaves, especially in the case of North American homes) from the family they served. Cooks and kitchen servants often slept in the kitchen underneath specially designed tables or in front of the fire to keep warm, and it was common for some kitchens to have holes in the walls or even waxed paper in lieu of glass windows.

In old-timey hearths, pots were often suspended from a long pole fixed into the hearth's interior. Greenpoles, which are made from green wood (freshly cut unseasoned wood), were valued for this task because their high moisture content meant they burned much more slowly than normal dried wood. Rich families were able to afford metal poles. Some indoor ovens were often built right into the hearth wall to share its heat rather than being heated directly, and some old homes still feature these kinds of ovens.

So now you've seen our poor Cinderella and her wicked stepmother, not to mention her two partners in crime. But wait! Ursulla and Limstella, surprisingly, are not the stepsisters of the story! That role goes to another pair, and it'll be quite different from the original story.

Until next time!


	3. The Brothers Reed (Raspberry)

Good news everyone: I finally have a Switch! Meh news: I still have to buy the accessories and the games for it. But now I have a starting point for them! Dunno if I should get Pokemon Shield though, considering how Game Freak and The Pokemon Company will probably release a second version of the game in the near future.

**CHPrime:** Limstella being agender is actually a canon trait of theirs. For some reason they're the only morph explicitly referred to as such, while the others do have gendered pronouns. I hope they come out soon in Fire Emblem Heroes! A morph banner would be a lot of fun.

**TheFreeLancerSeal:** you just wait until the story progresses because this is Sonia being "fine." She'll also go from "nice" to "bad" to "absolutely appalling." She's rotten to the core, but we won't get to that rot so early in the game. Nino is unfortunately going to go through some shit before finding her happily ever after!

I also have to clarify a few things, because apparently I phrased myself incorrectly when discussing the role of the stepsisters. Let's just say that, while Ursula and Limstella play the role of the evil stepsisters in the original story, I can't make a Blazing Blade fic without discussing Brendan's sons! So here we have a cast including bad stepsisters and good "stepsisters."

Thanks as always to newmrsdewinter, who is one of the few people I trust on Discord to eat like a normal person and put spices in her food ;)

Without further ado, let's give a warm welcome to Nino's best bros!

* * *

Just as Nino had finished setting the table for next day's breakfast, a loud, strident knocking at the door pulled her attention towards the entrance.

"Ugh," Sonia grumbled. "Who could be calling at this hour?"

"It can't be the post. Post doesn't come on Sundays," Ursula chimed, always eager to please.

The lady of the house stared pointedly at Nino, waiting for the girl to finish serving her a slice of quiche and a strong, black cup of coffee. "Well? What are you waiting for? Someone's at the door, and you need to be quick about answering it."

Nino balked, nearly tipping over Ursula's cup. "Ah, b-but Madame—"

"I'm not going to repeat myself. It's terrible manners to keep visitors waiting at the door."

"Y-yes, Madame."

And so Nino hurried obediently to the foyer, attempting to make herself presentable (as Sonia scolded her many times beforehand) before receiving whoever was banging so insistently on the door.

"Linus!" she exclaimed once she saw who was on the other side. "Lloyd!"

A pair of tall, muscular blonds stepped past the threshold, weighed down by a collection of undoubtedly heavy parcels, their satchels, and rather menacing-looking weapons strapped to their sides. In spite of their appearances, they gladly dropped their belongings to hoist Nino up, taking turns to give her a good spin that had her shrieking with laughter. They hugged her as tightly as possible.

"It's been a while! I've missed you so much!" The young girl wiped the sudden gathering of tears from her eyes as they set her down. She grasped their hands, so large compared to her own, and bounced in place excitedly. "How far north did you go this time? Did you see any pegasi?"

Lloyd—the paler, leaner one of the pair—chuckled as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "A few here and there."

"It was hard to focus on the pretty flying ponies when we were so busy trying not to freeze our arses off," Linus, larger and slightly taller, quipped.

Lloyd smacked the back of Linus' head with a disgusted scoff. "What'd I tell you about using that kind of language in front of Nino?"

"Come on," Linus pouted and rubbed the abused area. "It's not like she's a little kid anymore."

Nino just giggled at their antics.

"Well. I was wondering what was taking so long."

The temperature seemed to drop, perhaps even a close enough match to that of the fabled north, at the sound of Sonia's chilly words. Her voice carried well enough despite her standing at the very back of the hallway. Her morning gown, a rich, crimson silk confection, parted at the hip to reveal a long white leg.

"Sonia." Lloyd was curt and calmly sharp.

Linus merely grunted. His nostrils flared slightly.

The trio stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity with nary a blink pricking their eyes. A steady ticking from the hallway's grandfather clock only served to underscore the sudden tension that pulled tautly between the foyer and the entrance to the dining area.

And Nino, caught right in the middle of it, looked down guiltily.

"Where on_ earth_ is that girl, making Madame Sonia get up to look for her—oh!" Ursula emerged from the dining room right behind her idol. Her large dark blue eyes raked the men's figures with barely disguised annoyance. "If it isn't the Brothers Reed. Back so soon from Illia?"

"Yeah, pity we didn't get you any souvenirs," Linus sneered.

"_Linus_," Lloyd warned quietly.

Sonia cared little for the spat unfolding right before her eyes. "When you're done sniping at each other, I have business to discuss with the Reeds in the parlour—_alone_," she said pointedly. Ursula's face fell with a pout. "As for you, Nino…bring us some coffee, and go tend to the rest of your duties. But don't think that you're off the hook so easily; you wasted an awful lot of time with your chit-chat today—time that could have been better used—and I intend to discipline you for that."

"Yes, Madame Sonia," was Nino's obedient reply.

"I'll ring for you once we're done so you can come pick up the cups to wash."

Linus tried to grab Nino's attention as she left to procure their coffee, but Lloyd, shaking his head, dissuaded him from further action in front of Sonia and silently bade him to follow after the cold woman. At the very least, they made sure to close the door slowly and deliberately behind them, taking small comfort in Ursula's predictably aggravated reaction.

* * *

"I still can't believe it," Linus fumed, "seeing what the Fang's turned into."

The brothers had spent a good amount of time under Sonia's heavy interrogation, being questioned over their every move in Illia, every minor setback in their mission, and divvying up most of their reward into the Black Fang's coffers, as mandated for every mercenary under its name.

"She's taken a bigger cut of our money, but that's not what's bothering me. She didn't have to take the presents. You know she didn't, Lloyd. Those clothes and books were for Nino, and she just—" Linus' hands grasped uselessly at the air as he growled, frustrated.

Lloyd sighed. "I reckon she would've just taken them anyways once we leave."

"They've got this big house to live in while the Fang's stationed here in St. Gallen, all those fancy silks they were wearing while they were lounging about for breakfast, the new furniture and paintings and rugs…but the things for Nino are a 'needless expenditure?' Lloyd, they've got her dressed in _rags_. What the hell are we doing here, kissing Sonia's arse, watching her spend the Fang's money on nonsense while she's treating Nino like a slave?"

Lloyd looked off into the distance. The day was a pleasant one, now that summer was drawing nearer, and the fruit of the season was looking quite promising: fat red cherries were ripening on their branches, as were peaches, pears, strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries; there was also chard, and carrots, garlic, chamomile, and other sorts of herbs and plants painstakingly divided into neat planters and patches. The last time the brothers had come to the house, the garden was nothing more than a rundown mess of tall grass and wiry weeds. A rather cheap investment for the Black Fang considering it had been abandoned for more than a decade prior to their arrival.

It made all the care and patience and hard work Nino poured into making it habitable all the more stark.

"We can't just pretend that everything's fine, not ever since she came and wormed her way into the Fang. Jan and Legault are gone, Ursula's suddenly her biggest fan, and that's not even me getting started on that Landskron type—" Linus burst out, impulsively.

"Linus," Lloyd tried to interject.

"—the Fang's lost its way, brother. Sonia's attitude, her way of running things, it's all _wrong_. What happened to the meetings? Nobody can get a word in edgewise if she doesn't like what she hears. And Ursula won't shut up 'cause she's so busy sucking up to Sonia."

"She's the head now. Whether we like it or not, she calls the shots. That's what Pa's will said, and we can't change that."

"Did Pa's will include being allowed to spend the Fang's money on silk dressing gowns and stupid oil paintings of fruit? Money we make from poor people who come to us as a last resort because some rotten noble is making their lives miserable? I don't recall being asked if it was okay to raise our fees and make it harder for the needy to call on us just because Sonia wanted to buy some new crap. I don't like rubbing shoulders with sick freaks like Jerme and Landskron. And I certainly don't like watching our_ sister_, whom Pa loved as his own, being forced to wait on Sonia and her lackeys hand and foot and run around in _rags_."

Lloyd suddenly seized his brother's arm and pulled him into the shade of a cherry tree, scanning the house's windows carefully. Nino was visible at the third upper right one, sweeping hard, her mind focused solely on her task…with a dark shadow appearing right behind her she worked, staring down into the garden.

The shadow vanished in the blink of an eye.

Swallowing, Lloyd beckoned wordlessly to Linus. The duo trudged silently across the garden and into the small meadow behind the house.

Making sure they were alone, Lloyd finally spoke, safe with the knowledge that the rush of water from the stream would help to muffle their voices. "Those are dangerous words. You could even call them treasonous."

"Why, you wanna report me to Sonia?" Linus scoffed.

"No, I want to keep my brash, loose-lipped brother from harm."

Linus inhaled deeply. He squinted up at the bright blue sky. Then, he crouched down, scooped up a small handful of pebbles from the waters' bank, and began skipping them with unnecessary force.

"I don't like how things have turned either. But this is the Black Fang, Linus—'loyalty to the Fang above all,' remember?" Lloyd said. He joined Linus' stone-skipping shortly after.

The larger of the pair tensed, his jaw tightening visibly as his Adam's apple rose and fell. "So you're just gonna resign yourself to this? Let Sonia turn Pa's life work into a sham? Stand aside and do nothing while she pushes everyone around and makes Nino's life hell?"

"Of course not, but things aren't that simple. We can't just go against the Fang so easily. We don't have the support that we used to. Sonia's suspicious of us enough as it stands, and if we're not careful, we could actually end up making things worse. Think about the Old Fang. Think about Nino!"

An eagle's cry pierced through the cloudless sky and broke them out of their somber huddle. They realised, startled, that quite a bit of time had passed, and their stomachs grumbled in protest.

As if on cue, Nino's voice called out to them and announced that supper was being served.

"Come on," Lloyd muttered tersely. "The least we could do while we're here is to not give Sonia any more reasons to take her anger out on Nino."

* * *

Supper was a tense, stiff affair. The table was set beautifully as always (a snowy white tablecloth in Sonia's favourite material for meals, stamped and embossed pewter plates and cutlery, sturdy steel candlesticks) as the ladies of the house demanded it.

Naturally, Linus had more than a few vocal complaints.

"Why the hell isn't Nino at the table with us?" the young man demanded as he tore a buttered roll open. Crumbs littered his plate and the space around it, and his napkin was certainly looking worse for wear.

Sonia, disdainful of the rough treatment her household finery was being subjected to, grimaced ever so slightly at the spray of crumbs that flew across from her—dare she even say it—stepson's place. "Why, in the kitchen, of course. Someone has to tend to the food and the fire."

"That's bull. She's perfectly capable of taking a break to come and sit with us."

"And risk burning down the kitchen with her inattentiveness? I think not!" Ursula, always at the ready to jump in for her mistress's sake, uttered a short gust of airy laughter.

Lloyd kicked his brother under the table in warning. Linus ignored him. "That's not true. Nino's a good girl. And besides, she's as much a member of the Black Fang as we are. And every member of the Fang is entitled to a place at the table."

"Where on earth did you hear such a silly thing?" Ursula laughed again.

"In the rulebook that my father literally wrote himself."

That shut her up. The blue-haired lady turned and gaped, rather fishlike, to Sonia for help. Though Brendan Reed had been dead for two years straight now, his will, as the Fang's founder, was practically incontestable; bringing it up in conversation was an almost surefire way to end disputes…or, under the wrong circumstances, worsen them.

Now Sonia, though she was certainly not fond of the Reeds, acknowledged their importance within the organisation. As such, she grudgingly admitted them a few privileges within its operations.

More irritating was the fact that she was still their stepmother despite being widowed.

"Let them," Sonia sighed with a small roll of her eyes. "I'm not going to fetch that bloody book and look for the page where it says 'Nino gets to sit at the table with everyone.'"

Grinning, Linus got up with a loud scrape of his chair and walked to the back of the dining area to the door leading out to the kitchen. He returned with armfuls of loaded plates and a smiling, rosy-cheeked Nino wearing a clean linen dress.

"Filched it and some of the other presents when Ursula wasn't looking. Limstella doesn't give a damn either way," he whispered and winked to Lloyd as he pulled out Nino's chair for her.

Lloyd, in spite of his sigh, smiled ever so slightly. "I swear on St. Elimine, Linus, it's like you're begging to get us all in trouble."

"What do you care for St. Elimine? We haven't been to church since we were _ten_."

The sound of chewing and cutlery scraping across plates filled the dining room as the siblings happily tucked in to their food, occasionally pausing to drink weak ale and wipe their lips. Sonia and Ursula were not nearly so enthusiastic. They sat, stony-faced, and watched as the youth sitting across from them enjoyed themselves.

"Oh, is–is something wrong with the food?" Nino, who noticed the women's empty plates and joyless expressions, asked worriedly.

Ursula tapped meaningfully on the rim of her plate. "Well, I do believe you're forgetting something."

The young girl's face flushed in shamed embarrassment, and she started to get up to serve her mistresses. Linus' hand shot out to stop Nino and pull the back of her dress to keep her down in her chair.

"L-Linus…?" she ventured timidly.

Her stepbrother ignored her and focused on Ursula. "Somethin' wrong with your arms?"

The woman, tossing back her midnight blue hair with a scoff, raised her eyebrow. "Of course not. Why on earth would you think that?"

"Oh, really? So you can help yourselves just fine."

And so Ursula fixed Linus with a withering glare as she took it upon herself to serve Sonia generous portions of roasted chicken, late spring greens, and a bowl of potato soup as Nino gingerly returned to her own meal. Linus slurped away without a care in the world, and it took all of Lloyd's willpower not to burst out laughing and choke on his drink.

Limstella was as apathetic as always and had served themselves their own food unprompted.

"Don't get too cozy, the both of you. You've got a lot of new missions lined up soon and you can't stay lying about here when there's so much work to do," Sonia pronounced after a protracted silence. She waited patiently as Ursula went above and beyond to cut her supper into bite-sized portions for her, acknowledging the fawning gesture with naught but a tiny sniff. "And we still have yet to discuss the matter of new branches of the Fang to start."

Nino's fork fell to her plate with a clatter as she turned to her brothers. "You're…you're leaving again?" Her eyes glimmered with the start of tears that she tried to blink back.

"Of course not. We just got here. We're not just going to up and go when we haven't even had a chance to get settled in for the night," Lloyd reassured her as gently as possible. His hand reached for Nino's under the table and squeezed, firm yet soft.

"And it's the first time we hear about stuff like new missions and new branch operations. I wonder when you were gonna tell us…or did you save it as a surprise?" Linus added, his eyes never leaving Sonia's. He stuffed a roll into his mouth and chewed roughly, his newfound agitation tensing his posture, and Ursula smirked at the sight.

Sonia took a sip of her soup and wiped her lips delicately, her brow arching in response to the new barrage of crumbs. "There are still some details to be smoothed over. I'm sure we can discuss them like the adults we are, and have them fixed up in no time. It's for the good of the Fang."

The atmosphere changed; where Linus had been content to trade frosty barbs with Ursula, with Lloyd and Sonia watching, now he was forced to shut up as the head of the Black Fang brought up her ultimate trump card. The brothers cared little—and even struggled with hiding their antagonism—for their stepmother. But they loved their father. They loved his memory. They loved the Black Fang and the principles it was founded on, they loved working to fight against an unfair system that trampled on the weak and the needy, and they loved the stepsister that became one of the few physical memories of their father's presence in the world.

The Brothers Reed remembered the conversation they had earlier in the day, of the endeavour to preserve their beloved father's legacy and protect their vulnerable sister from the murky machinations of their stepmother, and the fight drained out of them as easily as water from a jug.

"You care about the Fang, of course. So you understand how necessary this is, don't you?"

Ursula's smirk grew wider as she watched their silence stretch out longer.

"Yeah," Lloyd said tiredly. "For the good of the Fang."

* * *

The brothers' room up in the attic looked just like they had left it two years prior: cozy red duvets spread out on cushy mattresses, carved wooden figures of wolves and bears resting snugly on their shelves, and brightly coloured pennants they had forgotten to take down after Yule strewn throughout the rafters. A large circular window along with a skylight often meant the space was bathed in warm light, especially during the winter (as that part of the house faced south), but now that night had fallen the siblings had to guide themselves with a modest little lamp.

It was very touching to see that Nino's diligence extended to keeping their old room clean and fit for use.

"Ah, shit," Linus swore with a start, and dove under his bed to check for something just as Lloyd pulled Nino up through the ladder.

"You've got to be kidding me," Lloyd hissed under his breath. "I thought I told you to get rid of all those prints before we left. What if Nino saw them?"

"Saw what?" the girl asked innocently.

Linus emerged from under his bed with an attempt at a straight face. "The huge mountain of sweets wrappers I hid from Pa whenever he did his night checks. You know how he felt about us sneaking snacks after supper: 'you'll have rotten teeth before you turn thirty!'" his voice boomed in an imitation of their late father.

Nino's face screwed up, confused, as she smoothed down the neck of her new nightgown, courtesy of her brothers. "But when I checked underneath after you left, there weren't any sweets wrappers—"

"Oh, I must've been a good boy for once and thrown them out! Hahaha…"

"You jackass," Lloyd whispered to Linus as they pushed their beds together and watched Nino clamber to the middle.

"Shut up," Linus whispered back as they kicked off their boots, threw off their shirts, and opened up the covers so they could all tuck themselves in.

It felt sadly nostalgic for the trio to share beds. The last time they did that, Nino was eight and their father had yet to give his sons the Talk about men and women and birds and bees. It was a more innocent time, when the children would try to stay up late with a lamp beneath the covers playing truth or dare and sharing scary stories that would turn progressively more gory and sensational, until they would all become too frightened to continue and they would watch the window for any sign of bogeymen from under the safety of the sheets.

But now, the danger was not coming from monsters or ghosts or imps, and that was a far more fearsome prospect to behold.

Just when they thought that sleep would come and take hold of them, Nino's soft voice sounded in their ears. "Are you really leaving again so soon?"

The Reeds shifted uneasily. "No, Nino," Lloyd reassured.

"But…Ma—Mother said…Mother said you had to take new missions. And that you had to open up new branches of the Fang. What if you have to go far away for that? What if you have to do even more dangerous things and you get really hurt? What if…what if we never see each other again?"

How could they assuage Nino's fears if they themselves had no clue over what Sonia was planning? Her announcement blindsided them at supper. It was just like Sonia to save a move so calculated and even spiteful for when they were exhausted from travelling and trying to enjoy their time back with their stepsister. They simply could not bring themselves to lie to the poor girl, especially not when they still did not know what to do either.

So they deflected as best as they could.

"There's still a lot to be discussed. But don't worry. We just got back, and we're going to make sure we spend a lot of time together. We'll have a grand old time." Lloyd smoothed back Nino's short green hair and the covers in snugly beneath her chin.

"Yeah," Linus added. "We saw your garden today. Everything looks wonderful. We can pick the berries and make pie and syllabub and juice. If things get too hot we can turn 'em into syrup and pour it over ice—they like to eat that in Ostia, did you know? And then we can go to the woods and the meadow and look for mushrooms and nuts and make those little flower crowns that you like so much, just like we used to back in Glarus."

Though her exhaustion was pulling her eyes shut, the blue of her irises shone with undisguised joy at the thought of such things. "I can't wait…" She yawned as she finally gave in to sleep.

The brothers shared an uneasy look before following her soon after, and their dreams were fitful and gave them little respite.

* * *

As someone who's always wanted to be an older sister (I'm the youngest out of a LOT of kids), I really enjoyed writing this chapter…even though it wasn't exactly a very happy one! I can't wait to get back to chapters with the Reeds and give them some quality time with Nino.

After this chapter I'm focusing on Reaching for Empyrean so I can have it updated at least before the year ends! That fic always has my biggest chapters, it's so dense hahaha. At least I'm very close to finishing my backgrounds for my thesis short, and one of my production teachers doesn't really care much about the extra stuff our uni asks for as long as he sees that we're doing progress on our shorts.

Until next time!


	4. Market Day (Thorn-Apple)

Happy Tuesday everyone! Thesis is still kicking my ass, but it's still fun, all things considered. I'm also really enjoying Three Houses! I chose the Golden Eagles (Claude captured my heart, honestly), and from there I'm planning to do Blue Lions → Crimson Flower → Church. Right now I'm right at the start of the reenactment of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion…but before I dive right back into it, there's some updating to do! Here the purpose of this chapter was to introduce more characters to our cast ;)

Replies!

**TheFreelancerSeal:** your reviews are always so thoughtful and composed! I'm really glad this fic counts with your support.

Nino and her brothers really do love each other, but "loyalty to the Fang above all" really restrains the Reeds' actions. Sonia is deplorable but they want to keep their dad's legacy alive. And their possible mission is definitely not meant to keep them close to their sister. It gets worse from there, sorry!

**The Caver Floyd:** thank you so much! I hope this is as enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write it.

Without further ado, here we go to chapter 4!

* * *

While Nino was still very worried over Sonia's plans to send Linus and Lloyd away soon, she tried to make the most of it. Today was market day, and though she was not allowed to take anyone with her, she decided to try and find something special for her brothers. At least as a thank-you for the wonderful presents they gave her.

And so Nino rose at the crack of dawn to hitch the house's sweet little piebald donkey to their rickety old cart, whistling a happy tune as they bumped and rattled their way to market.

She relished the weekly trips out of the house. Though she was usually very lonely, Nino enjoyed the brief respite from her nonstop cooking, cleaning, and running around to service Sonia and Ursula's every whim. The fresh air did her good. The road to town was surrounded by an expansive meadow full of daisies, thistle, pansies, and pincushion flowers, adding to the beautiful sight of a brilliant blue sky. An occasional eagle circled around, with a doe and her fawn watching warily as they grazed. She wished Linus and Lloyd were with her to see it.

The gate authority, though they knew her by now, still insisted on a jokingly thorough revision of her obviously empty cart, and Nino bid the guards a good day as she finally arrived at St. Gallen.

The town was enjoying a period of unprecedented growth. A few years ago, it was just another lowly settlement in a backwater region—struggling to make ends meet when the roads were few in number and poorly maintained, taxation taking its dues but rarely giving anything in return, and bandits running amok. The hardhearted men of Bern keep cared little for the people's pleas and scorned their cries for help as wanton begging.

That is, until Prince Zephiel came.

Rumours abounded of the young man's poor relations with his father, King Desmond, and it was suspected that Zephiel was sent to St. Gallen with his mother in order for the king to move his mistress into Bern castle. Whether or not those rumours were true were of little importance to the townspeople; Zephiel was a kind, upright youth whose tireless campaigning on their behalf earned him their unwavering support. Under him, the roads were properly paved and maintained with toll booths. Schools were set up across the land and ambitious educational programmes enacted to teach the people reading and writing and all other sorts of subjects. Best of all, according to the woman telling Nino all of this, was the monthly stipend set aside for farmers and craftsmen and labourers in general.

"It's just been so helpful, you know? I have enough money to buy the fertiliser I need for the fields, and then I have some left over so my girl here can have new boots for the winter," the herbalist chattered amiably as she filled a bag with poppy seeds. "Not having to worry about those sorts of things makes life a lot easier!"

St. Gallen's town square was abuzz with activity as befitting the first day of the month. With its newfound prosperity, people came from all across Bern to hawk their wares and trades, and others came to buy whatever they needed and fancied. Nino had finished purchasing the fruits and vegetables she was unable to grow back at the house, as well as an impressive two-stone salmon sourced all the way from Ilia, and afterwards she was of the mind to inquire over furniture repair services (having a little stool in the kitchen whose wobbly leg she could not fix herself). Now, she was procuring a list of ingredients Sonia and the others used in their potions.

"I also need two bags of gall nuts and a half-box of dried toad mushrooms, please," Nino asked.

"No coneflower this time?"

"No, sorry, I managed to find some growing wild, and I thought it'd be easier if I just transplanted it for my garden."

"Ahhh little miss, that's less money for me! One less thing I can sell you!"

The woman's teenage daughter, who had previously been content to help fill up grocery baskets, rolled her eyes at her mother's teasing. "Mum…"

"Oh, it's just banter dear, you know that! Let me have fun with the customers," the herbalist chided cheerfully.

Nino was happy, seeing the other women so comfortable with each other, easily slipping into casual ribbing and jokes, like how Linus and Lloyd acted. But then the thought made her sad. Her brothers were going to leave her soon.

And Sonia did not like to be called Mother.

She fantasised often about spending a day in St. Gallen with her brothers: shopping at the market, sharing cake from the new bakery, and perhaps even some newfangled tourist activity like a visit to the religious sites and the clock tower. Foolish, self-indulgent fantasies. There would never be any time to act on them when her life was dictated by her constant schedule of servitude. But there was a bright little corner in the back of Nino's heart that nurtured those desires, cared for them as tenderly as a gardener would with a small pale flower, and gave her hope that she could have just but a day like that with her brothers.

Maybe some god or St. Elimine herself would take pity on her and even convince Sonia to shed her hardened persona and take Nino up in her arms—_yes, my darling daughter, _Sonia would finally say, _I would love to come with you and eat some cake. Then we shall go to the tailors and the cobblers and they will make us lovely matching travelling suits, and we will rent a horse-drawn carriage and have a wonderful time together around town_.

_Oh, if only!_ Nino sighed.

Suddenly, a great silence started just around the bend from the church. Workers toiling away at its expansion stopped and peered down at the street from their positions up on the scaffold. Ladies and gentlemen dressed in expensive tricorns and cravats and ribbons ceased their gossip, as did their more humbly attired counterparts, and market day's buzz came to a total stop.

Soon everyone began to clamour and press together, a palpable sense of excitement rippling through the newly formed crowd.

"It's Prince Zephiel!" a man cried out.

The mere mention of the name was enough to stir the people into a veritable frenzy.

"Prince Zephiel! Prince Zephiel!"

"Zephiel has come to town!"

"Your Grace, Your Grace! Come here this way! Come see our wares, please!"

Nino was too short to get a proper glimpse of the hubbub, but the resulting crush of people made her quite keen on leaving with her groceries intact before the crowd engulfed her. She threw her payment to the herbalist with a shouted apology before making a mad dash back to her donkey and cart. Unfortunately, the commotion was much too great, and Nino was swallowed up by the swarming din of townspeople eager to see the prince up close.

The young girl gasped. She clutched the bag of ingredients protectively and tried to navigate the sea of coats and dresses before her. It was easier said than done, however, and the constant jostling she was subjected to made her dizzy and hot, anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach as her feet were stepped on and sides jabbed into by countless elbows. By the time the masses finally spat Nino out, her head was spinning in a thousand different directions. She clumsily stumbled forward—

—right into a boy's tower of precariously balanced books.

"Oh, you've _got_ to be joking!" A shock of untidy purple curls framed eyes of a curiously similar colour—very obviously irritated eyes, especially if the deeply furrowed brows wrinkling the boy's forehead were anything to go by. He dropped to his knees and started collecting the books one by one. "Hey, you!"

Nino jumped. "W-who, me?"

"Obviously!" He rolled his eyes, annoyed. "You're the one who bumped into me the first place."

"Ah, I'm s-so sorry—"

"Oh, do stop with your stammering, it's so irritating! Why don't you make yourself useful instead of standing around catching flies with that open mouth? Help me pick these books up!"

"I-I-I—"

"Egads, it's worse than I thought!" The youth stared aghast at a book; some of its pages were now smeared in dirt, and a small part of its leather cover was slightly scraped off from the fall. "This is all your fault! Now I'll have to spend the whole day fixing this, and it was a brand new one too! I hope you're happy with yourself!"

Nino hated confrontation. She had very little idea of how to diffuse it besides attempts at appeasement, and even the mere thought of a raised voice often made her physically sick. But this was not her usual experience with Ursula's loud berating or Sonia's cool, calculating jabs—a complete stranger was yelling at her in a crowded town square over something she had certainly not meant to do, but it certainly was going to be of no comfort when the books were apparently new. Where intentional or not, Nino had ruined those young man's books, there was no easy solution, and her blunder resulted in a very public reprimand.

So she, completely at a loss, started to bawl.

The boy was taken quite aback. He had clearly spoken out, unthinkingly, in momentary anger. His books were precious and valuable to him, but not enough to bring a girl to tears in the middle of town, and certainly not enough to merit the disapproving mutters and chastising stares he was receiving from several passersby and vendors. A butcher had even stopped his work on the chopping block to menacingly shake a bloodied cleaver at him.

"H-Hey," the young man started, reaching out a trembling hand in Nino's direction. "I-I didn't mean—"

A solid thwack to the back of his head ended that sentence immediately.

"Erk, you absolute_ cad!"_ a loud, feminine voice scolded.

Nino's tears ceased out of sheer surprise. A young lady dressed in a fashionable white travelling dress and lilac shawl swung a deceptively small purse at the youth—whose name was apparently Erk—with enough vigour and force to have him scrambling for cover. Her pink hair flew in every direction as she readied the deadly bag for another swing, and soon enough, a small throng broke off from Zephiel's onlookers to gawk at the new spectacle.

"I turn around for all of three seconds—" the lady's reproach was loud enough to startle several spectators.

Erk, having recovered from his momentary shock, soon had another scowl on his face; this time, however, was with the familiarised practice of someone used to long and acrimonious debate with a certain opponent. "Serra, now is not the time to draw attention to ourselves!"

She ignored him. "—and already you're in the thick of trouble! First you moan and whine about how you absolutely don't want to travel to Saint Gallen, then when we get here all you do is mope about how awful market day is—"

"—because that means you'll just mindlessly throw yourself into shopping—"

"—then you're nothing but sour grapes every time we even _breathe_ in a merchant's direction—"

"—because that means I have to carry your shopping, you ungrateful shrew—"

"—and then you slip away to gods' know where without a moment's notice! I was worried sick! You're the one who kept nagging me to keep close and not wander off, yet here you are, having done exactly that! Hypocrite!"

Erk lowered his defensive posture, brows wrinkling uncertainly. "You were worried about me?"

"And with good reason!" Serra barrelled on, fueled entirely by the intensity of her righteous fury. "Not only did you completely ignore our instructions to stay together and scout the area, you did a little shopping of your own as if I wouldn't notice all those books, and to top it all off, I find you manhandling some poor young maiden! Erk, you are a bully and a ruffian, and Louise shall hear all about your atrocious behaviour once we get back! Unhand her! Unhand her I say!"

"I'm not even touching her!" Erk shouted.

"Oh? Then how do you explain her tears?" Serra turned to Nino and suddenly seized her in a surprisingly strong grip. Nino squeaked, partially due to the pain, and wondered just how exactly a simple shopping trip had evolved into something so complicated. "You poor thing! Where did he touch you? How much did it hurt? Show me the worst of the bruising!"

"Now who's manhandling who?" The purple haired youth yanked his companion off Nino, and the pair soon descended into further squabbling. There was little much Nino could do besides stare.

"You always keep doing this! Nagging me for whatever perceived offense—but then you turn around to do it yourself! You two-faced fraud!" Serra accused.

Erk spluttered, face steadily turning bright pink. "Fraud? _Fraud?_ You're the one who wanted to gallivant around the shops and the stalls instead of sticking to our mission, and you spin all sorts of tall tales and nonsense for the vendors instead of just getting on with it, and you're calling _me_ the fraud?"

"Oooh, so you want to do this back and forth of who's the biggest liar now, do you? I can think of all sorts of other deficiencies you've got!"

"Please, as if your list isn't miles long! Some holy woman you turned out to be!"

"W-Why, you t-take that back right now! I'll not have you insulting the Church of Elimine!"

"There you go again, putting words in my mouth and accusing me of saying things I didn't!"

"We have a witness who can prove me right, and you'll be forced to eat your words once and for all!" Serra proclaimed with utmost confidence, turning around expectantly…only to find that Nino had long since vanished. Her cart and donkey were nowhere to be found either.

Erk snorted smugly. "Yes, that witness is doing _such_ a great job of proving you right."

"I'll say!" a cloth salesman, one of the many bystanders who had watched their spat, exclaimed. "Little lass was smart enough to run! Why, if I were some poor sap with the misfortune of having been your father, seeing you fight like that in public would've made me turn tail as well!"

The crowd laughed uproariously at the pair's expense, and it was only then that they saw just how large an audience they had attracted. Red shame burned their cheeks and the tips of their ears. Not only had they managed to be the complete opposite of discreet, but they were being mocked for it. Serra pulled her shawl over her face in an attempt to hide her utter mortification and hurried off with Erk hot on her heels.

"Louise is most definitely not going to like this!" she groaned.

* * *

Two separate visits were occurring at the same time as Nino's trip to the market.

The first was marked by the polite, but quite obvious, knocking at the front door of the Black Fang house. As Nino was the one who tended to any busybodies or associates, Sonia and her underlings usually paid no mind. They were currently lounging about in the parlour whilst reading some obscure magical manuals.

The knocking, however, kept going.

Ursula looked up from her book to call for Nino. "Honestly, where is that girl? Can't she see that there's someone at the entrance?"

"She went to market today," Limstella replied in her usual listless tone.

"Oh." Sonia looked quite peeved at being reminded that the girl was out instead of attending them. She decided to try and ignore the noise.

Whoever it was was not quite as ready to give up yet; the knocking at the door soon increased ever so slightly in frequency and volume.

The ladies kept flipping through the pages of their books as though bored. But the minute creasing around Sonia's eyes was a giveaway to her mounting irritation, and Ursula, who was quite attuned to her mistress's moods, picked up on it immediately.

"Where are the Reeds?" the blue-haired woman said, a little nervously. "They've been lazing around ever since their arrival yesterday—why can't they make themselves useful for once, hm?"

"They're out checking the perimeter of the barrier," Limstella replied again.

Ursula fell silent. But her eyes were on Sonia's face the entire time, her text forgotten as she examined the lady of the house's expression for any sign of impending anger.

The knocking kept going. And going. And going.

Slamming her book shut, Sonia shot up with a growl and stormed off in the direction of the window. "Ursula, answer the door this instant."

"But—" Ursula was aghast. Menial tasks such as receiving visitors were completely beneath her. "But Madame! I'm so busy with our work here. Surely Limstella can do it?"

The look Sonia sent her was nothing short of withering, and Ursula wilted completely in the face of such disapproval. Disappointing her idol was the last thing she wanted to do, and despite her haughtiness and proud nature, Ursula always bowed to Sonia's will in the end. "Limstella is going to pour me a drink, and as such, she cannot go to the entrance. Secondly, if I ask you for something, it's because I expect you to carry it out. _Understood?"_

"Yes, Madame," Ursula simpered in an impression of servile meekness.

Opening the door revealed a rather tall and handsome man. His countenance was of well-groomed confidence: a low tail of silver hair was pulled back neatly, with but a few strands framing a face endowed by a long, straight nose, high cheekbones, and kindly purple-grey eyes. He had a walking stick, and his travelling suit was dusty and rather worn, but it did little to detract from the impressive figure he cut to others.

"Good day," the man greeted in a low, rich voice. He doffed his tricorn respectfully. "I apologise if I've interrupted anything important."

Ursula blinked. She spied Sonia watching the threshold from the window, a glass of freshly poured wine resting in the globe of her palm. "You have," she responded curtly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Forgive me for my rudeness; I had no intention of doing so." Their unexpected visitor bowed low from the waist, contrite.

She raised an eyebrow. Who exactly this stranger was was beyond her, but he certainly did not possess the attitude of a common salesman, or solicitor, or any other sort of agent who might have reason enough to knock at someone's door in the morning. He looked far too self-assured and at ease for that. "May I ask your business?"

Straightening up, his eyes crinkled in a smile. "I apologise for my terrible manners—my name is Louis, Louis Klein. My wife and I have recently purchased the property next to yours and I thought it would be appropriate to get to know our new neighbours, though now I see that I haven't made the best first impression, have I?"

"Indeed," Ursula muttered icily.

Louis looked around the front of the house with that same easy-going smile plastered on. The woman's obviously cold demeanour seemed to not have the desired effect of driving him off with another apology or two, or even of being off-putting; the fact that he was unwelcome at all did not manifest in the manner she was hoping for.

"Can I help you with anything else?" Ursula asked, brusque.

"I couldn't help but notice how wonderfully lush your home is." Their visitor's tone was full of admiration, casting his eyes about and taking in the potted flowers lining the walkway up to the door, the bushes blooming at the rock fence, the trees ripening with the promise of fruit to be harvested and eaten later. Summer had been generous with her gifts that season—the Black Fang's house was evidence enough. A stranger like him must have thought that it was paradise on earth. "We're in the process of cleaning out the property and fixing it up, but we've still a long ways to go before it looks as remotely as beautiful as yours. We hope you don't mind if we stop by from time to time to ask for some seedlings of our own, or maybe just to chat. You're welcome any time for tea."

Ursula had just about enough of listening to Louis go on and on over their new house, mostly certainly not eager to take him up on the offer. As far as she was concerned, the best thing he could do was simply bugger off. "Thank you kindly," the lady said with barely disguised hostility as she shut the door on him with a bang.

Louis was completely unruffled by the experience. He merely observed the entrance for a little while longer. Another smile then crept up his face, and he turned to go back to his home, twirling his walking stick and whistling a jaunty little tune as he did so.

Sonia kept watching him from the window and narrowed her eyes.

* * *

The second visit was to the manse atop the hill overlooking St. Gallen.

Though not a palace, and not large enough to qualify for anything else except perhaps a very modest castle, the place was certainly rather palatial in other aspects. The road leading to it was a charming cobblestone path that jostled carriages in a most pleasing manner as they made their way up, with a small forest of thickly leaved beeches and larches hiding the view until parting at the top to reveal the gleaming white structure. Footmen and grooms attired in silver-white clocked stockings and blue justacorps graciously welcomed visitors and helped them down with the use of blue velvet stools. Upon crossing the threshold, heavy oaken doors were pushed open to display a shining expanse of white marble, deep blue velvet curtains, and a massive painting of King Desmond II of Bern gazing at the enormous golden chandelier from atop his position at the grand staircase.

Such was the sight that greeted Lady Clarine Klein as her presence was announced to the manse.

A senior maidservant bade her follow up the stairs, past a long gallery of moody landscapes and portraits into an anteroom wallpapered in more blue. There was blue as far as the eye could see: everything from the cushions to the rugs to the mantelpiece clock were blue, blue, blue.

"The Queen doesn't usually have visitors, so it was quite a surprise to hear someone was coming to see her!" The maidservant sounded cheerful, hopeful even, as Louise sat down to wait. "She's taken to hiding away as of late…the prince is quite concerned, really. Now, she wasn't such a social butterfly to begin with, but sometimes she stays inside for days on end."

Clarine did not comment on the old maid's candid disclosure. "Thank you for seeing to me. I appreciate it."

"Oh, I'm simply doing my job, milady! Would you care for anything to drink while I announce you? Some tea? Coffee perhaps? The Queen is quite partial to it and we've just received a fresh delivery from the marketplace."

"No, thank you kindly. I've half a mind to get some rest once I return home and coffee is certainly no sleeping draught."

The servant laughed at the light joke and knocked three times on the door separating the Queen's parlour from the anteroom. "Your Highness? It's me—it's Beatrice speaking. Lady Clarine has arrived and she's right here for you. May I let her in?"

An unintelligible murmur sounded from behind the door. A tiny crease in Beatrice's face dimmed her otherwise bright smile.

"J-Just one moment...the Queen will see you shortly," she said with a slightly higher pitch to her voice, and she opened a little sliver of the door to reveal a deep darkness she slipped into.

The ticking of the stately clock hanging on the mantelpiece was her only companion as Clarine sat, patiently straining to hear any sign of life behind the door. She rather preferred having the clock—a handsome creation made with gold leaf, lapis lazuli, and a satiny smooth walnut finish—to keep her company and track the time as the door remained silent. She kept her eyes on the golden wyverns guarding the clock face as she counted the minutes going by.

One minute turned to five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty-two.

An entire half-hour almost passed before the door revealed Beatrice once more: a bit dishevelled, but otherwise sporting her usual wide smile from before.

"Her Majesty," she gasped, "is ready to see you."

Clarine thanked her and stepped into the darkness behind the door.

It took a bit for her eyes to adjust properly until they could pick out the tiny slice of light cutting into the dark from just beyond her reach. She walked toward it, a little uncertainly, until she was confident enough to not expect to walk into any piece of furniture. A rug muffled her footsteps, but a low voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," it said, almost accusingly.

Though Clarine's lips were raised, there was no happy sentiment in the gesture. "Hello, Hellene."

The Queen of Bern was perched upon a velvety blue armchair and dressed as though she would be attending court soon. What little light was able to peek through the heavy curtains was at least enough to reveal her elaborate blonde coiffure and the long, milky-gray pearls looped around her pale neck. A full cup of cold coffee sat on a side table next to her along with a psalter dedicated to St. Elimine.

"You never answered any of my letters, so I decided to stop by," Clarine offered in way of an explanation.

"There are usually reasons for that," was Hellene's cool retort.

Clarine ignored it and attempted to press on. "We're actually staying in St. Gallen for a little while. We've found a rather sweet little cottage on the outskirts—I think you'd like it very much. It's still quite wild and we haven't finished moving in the rest of our things yet, but we're managing to adapt well enough. The children have some...complaints though. They've only ever known life in the city. Hopefully some work will distract them and they might find some others of their own age to be friends with. Would Zephiel—"

"NO." Hellene's immediate response chilled the very air.

Now there was no soothing clock ticking, no fussy oil paintings or mantelpiece decorations to distract Clarine from the silence surrounding them. The queen's moodiness was apparent; tempting as it was to simply give up and turn tail, Clarine was no quitter, and Hellene was someone she could not afford to turn her back on.

If not for her sake, then at least for the prince's.

"How is Zephiel?" Clarine tried again, her voice soothing and soft. "Is he well? How is life in St. Gallen suiting him?"

It was cold before...but upon hearing those words, the atmosphere around Queen Hellene dropped a further few degrees, not in anger, but there was an ugliness to it that was difficult to describe. Clarine wondered if she was wrong to even bring the prince up at all, and waited with a hitch in her breath.

Suddenly, Hellene burst out in sweet, bubbly laughter. It was a saccharine and hateful sound that dropped a heavy leaden weight in Clarine's stomach. She had never heard such a thing before and never wanted to again. Adding to the confusing turn of conversation was the queen suddenly flinging the drapes open and flooding the room with piercing light.

"It's such a wonderful view, isn't it?" She gestured outside the window; the entirety of the town could be seen from beyond the trees carpeting the hillside, a collection of charming brown roofs, blue smoke curling out of their chimneys, and the moving, colourful mass of people in the square. Sun suffused the scene and the snowy mountains in the distance added to the backdrop of quaint, rustic beauty, so very different from the steely aloofness of Bern's capital.

Clarine clenched and unclenched her fist. "It is."

The queen leaned on an armrest, gazing out at the scene with an odd gleam in her eyes. "They love my Zephiel, did you know? Those silly commoners always fall over themselves whenever he goes to town, always so eager to see him, always so adoring…as they should for any proper king." She laughed that same cruel laugh again. "And my Zephiel is always so gracious. He doesn't mind their grubby little hands all over him, he accepts their flowers and kisses their babies. My Zephiel is a gifted young man and always knows exactly what to do when attending to his subjects. Why, we've had not a single report of peasant rebellions being stirred up for quite some time now…do you know how many were reported in Hartmut province alone this past week? Two!"

How on earth Hellene managed such a quick change of moods was beyond Clarine's capacity to process, and, while it disturbed her, her reaction was mostly of sadness. Queen Hellene was not well and Clarine had no idea what to do to help her.

The worst thing of all was knowing that poor Zephiel was most likely bearing the brunt of it all.

"I thought you hated blue," was all she could say.

That awful laugh hurt Clarine's ears and her heart. "Oh, of course we still do!"

Such mirth over such an awful sentiment…Clarine's heart sank further into her stomach the longer she stayed to witness Hellene's apathy, her iciness, and then their distortion to unkindness, to snideness, to contempt. What could she do? What could she say when Hellene was clearly disinclined to even listen? Was the queen to become a shut-in, looking out over St. Gallen? Gloating over her son when she had no desire to leave her quarters in the first place, leaving the poor boy to run everything in her stead?

Would she even get a chance to talk to him and see how he was faring?

The very thought made Clarine ache in want of her own children, her messy, loud children, and she decided then and there that the visit to the manse was over.

"I'm sorry, Hellene," she murmured. "I have to go now. I'll try and come again tomorrow, and if not, then the day after tomorrow."

Clarine began to retreat towards the door. Just as she had her hand on the handle, the queen's reproachful voice stopped her.

"You never made those promises to me when I was stuck in Bern Keep…what changed, hm? What made you decide not to give up on me this time around? Am I such a miserable sight that your sensibilities are stirred to unwarranted pity?"

Small tears in Clarine's eyes were successfully blinked away, but she could not answer her, because she was right. And Clarine was ashamed for it, ashamed for having her failure demand to be looked in the face.

"Please don't tell Desmond that we're here," was all she could manage.

"Oh, don't worry, my dear; that's a promise I will_ gladly_ keep."

* * *

By the time Clarine arrived at the cottage, her son had a pot full of onions stewing away merrily, waiting to tip a cutting board full of chicken into it. Her husband Louis enveloped her in a tight hug the moment he saw her withdrawn expression.

"Lady Lou—" their son's pink haired companion immediately burst out.

"Now now Serra," Louis chided. "What have we just gone over?"

Serra looked off to the side, a little churlishly. "That we must remember our disguises and keep our mouths shut while we're here."

"Precisely, my dear. Here I'm Louis and she's Clarine. On that topic, have you and Erk finally decided on your own names? We can't risk you blurting your real ones in public."

Erk made a strangled noise and the chicken fell ungracefully into the pot with a loud, wet plop. Serra's hands froze over the potholders and lace doilies she was fixing, and now looked down into her lap, shamefaced. "Well…about that…"

"Serra said my name in public when we went to town," was Erk's immediate accusation.

"W-Why you!" The young lady gaped at him, aghast and upset. _"You_ said my name in public too, you know!"

"Only because you started it! You're always getting us headfirst into trouble!"

"As if you're such a well-behaved little angel yourself, especially with the absolutely _shameful _state I found you in today!"

"Children," Clarine sighed wearily from Louis' arms. "Must you be so loud? Can you leave the fighting at least until after I've started my cigar?"

The pair had the decency to quiet down immediately, contrite. "We're very sorry, Lady L–Clarine," they both intoned.

Clarine merely sighed again and trudged to the single piece of large furniture they had managed to install in the tiny sitting room next to the kitchen—a cushy cream coloured couch—kicking off her clogs and and sinking into it. Louis offered her a box of matches and an ash tray as she rooted around in her purse for her pouch of cigars, and she accepted them gratefully, lighting a fat cigar up and filling the air around her with a thick, smelly, smoky scent.

"Now." She said as she exhaled a noseful of smoke. "What's this I hear about you getting into trouble in public?"

"From what I managed to get out of both their versions, without all the mutual sniping, was that they got into another little tiff in the town square," Louis explained.

Serra, of course, was not one to let her side of the events go unheard. "Lady Lo–Clarine, what happened is that I caught Erk manhandling a poor girl over his stupid books!"

"They're not stupid! You wouldn't know what stupid is because I bet you've never even bothered to crack open a book in the first place!" Erk immediately snapped, hackles raised.

Louis turned a meaningful glance over to his son, taking in his incensed expression carefully. "Erk, would you please explain to us why you apparently manhandled a girl in the marketplace?"

"I didn't—!" Erk's breath caught in his throat, and he released it guiltily, unwilling to lie about his misconduct. "I didn't mean to get angry. I just ran into a girl and the crowd was difficult because the prince was out, so she bumped into the books I bought and knocked them over, and I got upset with her because of that."

"Upset enough to make her cry," Serra pointed out.

Erk's brows furrowed in annoyance, and he growled at her interference. "So the appropriate response was to hit me with a bag?"

"You deserved it for being such an incorrigible boor! Young maidens like me are delicate little things and we must be treated with kindness and respect; your silly books only got a little banged up but you decided that it was some sort of high crime, and your first reaction was to yell at that girl for something she had no control over."

"Erk," came Clarine's sage words of advice. "You must learn to rein in your temper. Other people do not exist to inconvenience you and you should remember that when you're talking to others and walking about in public. Be mindful of their feelings too. And as for you, Serra." Clarine turned her head around on the couch's armrest to look at the pair. "Your own temper manifesting in violence is not a kind trait to have, and hitting Erk every time you have some minor disagreeance or another will only cause more problems."

"We're very, very sorry, Lady Clarine," the two apologised.

Louis turned to another young lady sitting on one of the mismatched chairs around their kitchen table. "And I'm sorry Lady Priscilla has to bear witness to our domestic misbehaviours."

Priscilla, a sweet-faced girl with short chestnut hair and bright green eyes, giggled softly as she shelled peas on the table. "Oh, don't worry about me, Lord Louis. I'm paying no mind. And these two get along far better than they'd like to admit."

Serra harrumphed in embarrassment. "Wait, why doesn't Priscilla have to use a false name?"

"Because we're keeping her away from the action," was Louis' patient reply.

"You said the same thing about us, but you're asking us to use false names."

"Well, Priscilla knows how to keep her head down and not draw attention to herself; you two, on the other hand, need to have it beaten into you a little more thoroughly until you no longer let your emotions get the better of you."

The youngsters looked away, sufficiently chastened, and returned to their chores with renewed vigour.

"Look, everyone," Clarine announced from the couch, stubbing out her cigar on a floral porcelain ashtray. "I know it's been a long day and we're all tired from the move. We can leave talk of work for later and focus on supper—get our spirits up with a nice home-cooked meal and stirring tableside conversation."

"I think that's a wonderful plan, my love." Louis beamed.

Chairs scraping against the wooden flooring made for a happy, cacophonous symphony as Erk and Priscilla spooned carefully portioned bowls of chicken and vegetable stew into the crockery that managed to survive the journey to St. Gallen's outskirts. There were little complaints over the remaining, bent cutlery when there was such a delicious meal to focus on. The fire in the hearth was roaring away warmly, Serra and Erk were speaking quite politely to one another, and the cottage was set aglow with a little family's happiness.

* * *

And with this, I would like to get back to thesis and 3h! I won't be updating my other fics because I'll be publishing my latest fairy tale adaptation: the Three Houses version of The Sorcerer's Apprentice, titled Liar, Trickster, Heathen! Hopefully I can get it out soon!


	5. Later at Night (Anemone)

As always, I want to thank the discord crew for everything, and for the lovely wip wednesday section encouraging everyone to do their best. I really enjoyed working on this chapter despite how short it is! But I certainly didn't enjoy putting Prince Charming through the ringer, poor guy…

* * *

Long after the sun fell, the last stragglers stumbled home from pubs, and used lamp wicks trimmed after being put out, a solitary carriage arrived at the manse. No footmen were on call to assist—as much as Murdock insisted, his liege claimed he did not want to burden anyone with his ungodly hours.

_You are never a burden, my prince,_ the older man thought sadly as he helped Zephiel stumble out.

No supper either. The kitchens tried to leave some for him on previous occasions: lovely roasts, thick, cozy stews, fruit puddings and sausage rolls and other things sure to ease worries from a bowed back. Yet they often went cold, tried as Zephiel might, and his guilt was such that he usually forbade supper altogether unless a rare night kept him signing papers in his office. These were not the things meant for meant for a young man of his age, and it pained Murdock to see Zephiel trudging tiredly up the stairs in the dark.

Hellene did not make it a habit to greet her son or kiss him goodnight, preferring to stay in her rooms. There was also the question of just how much coffee she had to drink that day. The maids whispered incessantly over the untouched cups, often found frozen and lonely on her sideboard. Murdock knew the staff held a great love for Zephiel, knew they worried just as much as he did, and appreciated their work to keep him comfortable; but then came the difficulty of status, their constant gossip, and so whatever affection held that might have been leveraged for a bridge was stymied by the chasm that loomed before them all.

Zephiel fell face first into his pillow. Murdock took his boots and coat off for him, but refrained from slipping on a nightshirt. Zephiel would protest, anyways. "I am not a child," he had said, attempting to look far graver than his age.

Murdock would always humour him, but wished dearly that he _had_ stayed a child. His bedroom reflected it—staid and sober and somber in a way that befitted a man thirty years his senior. Murdock often fantasised of playing decorator for Zephiel: he would do away with the boring blue wallpaper for starters. Replace it with something soft and plant-like and green, the prince's favourite colour. Then some paintings to add variety to the wall, a few floral still lifes, nautical scenes, a variety of landscapes. Perhaps a place to hang up a mounted hunting trophy or two; and some potted flowers of course, to fill the room with their refreshing scent and colour as the seasons turned. But Zephiel aped the tastes of someone he was not, and so his resting place felt just as dreary and cold.

"Do you think it will work?"

The little uncertain voice buried in fabric was so quiet as to be almost inaudible. Murdock drew the sheets up to the nape of Zephiel's neck. "We cannot know unless we see it through."

"Oh, well, what I mean to say is…" and then came an abrupt pause.

Niceties and reassurances on Murdock's part could hardly be called fatherly. His job was to guard the prince, keep him safe from any threat, real or imagined. If need be, he also served well enough as a personal valet of sorts. Zephiel would have rather liked to keep him on as a secretary too, but Murdock always refused. He did not need to risk the danger that came with ingratiating himself too closely.

But what Zephiel did need was companionship. A reliable shoulder to lean on. Someone to listen to his troubles and nod along to his complaints and wipe away his tears. That, however, was plainly impossible. Murdock's dedication to duty always overrode whatever stirring of gentle pity that moved him. And Zephiel would never admit that anything bothered him at all. Words uttered into the safety of a pillow in the dead of night was as close at it got.

Zephiel deserved so much more, and Murdock did not know how to give it to him.

"The morning is wiser than the evening," he said. "It is better to think upon these things when well-rested."

"Hm, right as always. Thank you, Murdock. See you tomorrow."

And Murdock cursed himself silently as he shut the bedroom door with a traitorous sharp click.

* * *

I'm actually kind of cursing myself now! Despite the title and this fic's theming, I didn't think of using flower chapter titles until right now! So I hope you enjoy the new titles…maybe guess a few of the meanings attached to them? Floriography is always such a fascinating subject to study.

As for next chapter, it's back to the Black Fang!


	6. The Meeting (Dog Rose)

Day XXXX in quarantine and even though things are reopening I'm losing my mind over how much of a shit-show this has been for my country (we're in one of the top ten along with the US and Brazil, yaaaaay) and how casually so many people are taking this. Thanks Fire Emblem for keeping me semi-sane? But even more thanks to the lovely newmrsdewinter and all her cat pics, and the discord group for going over the rise and fall of Bon Áppetit with a fine-toothed comb.

* * *

Sonia was not a woman known for her patience. When she ordered something done—asking was reserved exclusively for lesser beings—she expected results immediately. And so seeing the Black Fang arrive minutes later than expected from her summons put her in a rather foul mood.

"When I say your presence is required," Sonia announced to the assembled party, eyes sharp, "it is not an invitation to take your time dallying about with other chores before deciding to answer my call. Is that clear?"

A low murmur ran throughout the room. Sonia was not amused.

"Is that _clear?"_ she prompted once more, voice dropping dangerously low.

"But of course," Pascal Grentz answered in everyone's stead. "Forgive us for our tardiness—magic can be a tad unreliable at times, and coordinating for so many people at once can ensue in quite the tangle." A smarmy grin pulled his lips up. His hair and skin certainly looked well-groomed enough for someone who claimed to be neck-deep in some of the Fang's dirtier affairs in Elibe's arid south, and not for the last time, Sonia wished someone would plant their boot up his arse to teach him a thing or two about humility. Not that she would do it herself, of course. Those were things for underlings to carry out.

"It's time for roll call," Limstella said dully. She rattled off a list of names and nodded mechanically each time someone confirmed their presence. Two people were missing and would be dealt with later.

Sonia hated Limstella too—more than anyone else in the room, in fact. _Sonia_ was supposed to be at their Master's side. _Sonia_ was supposed to act as his confidante and right hand, as befitting everything done in his name, earning herself a seat at his side. And yet Limstella took Sonia's rightful place instead. What did the Master ever see in her? That blank-faced grunt, simply carrying out her duties as apathetically and listlessly as any mindless automaton would, with none of the passion, effort, and grace that Sonia consciously projected. Limstella seemed to not care a farthing's worth for everything the Master did for them. Everything he strived to achieve, everything he made them out to be. They even owed the Master their very lives, and yet he seemed to overlook Sonia in favour of their most lacklustre member yet.

_Why?_ Sonia fumed. She sat down with her perfectly maintained nails digging into her chair's upholstered armrests.

Once roll call finished, the Fang's inner circle looked at her expectantly, wondering what prompted her to summon them so abruptly. Their meeting room was located in a basement far beneath the house's lower levels, its build tailored specifically for secretive needs: thick stone walls, soundproofed and magicked to prevent any potential eavesdropping; warp circles placed in each corner, for quick summonings and getaways alike, along with an emergency staircase that led to a tunnel emerging close to the road; sconces for soft blue torchlight, and a sidecar with the necessary refreshments. The Fang were a thirsty bunch and made no secret of their fondness for drink.

Things would certainly be much easier if they had the girl there to bring them more. Sonia, however, expressly forbade her presence, no matter how much Grentz pestered them for it, not wishing to involve her when her stupidity could pose a very real risk to their work.

"As of yesterday, we've new 'neighbours' living in the next property over," Sonia announced.

"That's the situation? Lady Sonia, that seems a bit much…" Jerme drawled from his seat, propping up his feet on the table. It was a habit Sonia had repeatedly expressed her distaste for several times, and she glared at him pointedly. His feet came down, but not before leaving a streak of mud on the expensive wood.

"I would like to remind you, Death Kite, that listening is a skill you ought to have cultivated by now. And I would not be so foolish as to invoke a meeting for frivolous reasons. Rather, one half of the _couple"_ —she spat the word out as if it were a tainted piece of meat—"simply strode up to the door here and said his greetings, cool as can be, yet somehow without activating our sentry spell."

That piqued their interest. Powerful magic maintained a barrier that acted as a sort of tripwire around a fairly large perimeter beyond the house. Its role was to alert the inhabitants of the presence of other people, especially ones unrecognised by the Fang. For someone to have gotten as far as the entrance without triggering it meant two possibilities: either the spell was waning for some unknown reason, or they were dealing with mages strong enough to nullify it. Both were tremendous causes for concern, and the room sank into quiet murmurs discussing that troubling new development.

Teodor, one of the few who Sonia (grudgingly) respected, grasped his chin between his forefinger and thumb with a thoughtful hum. "It would be prudent to investigate them at once. If they really are just civilians who happened to arrive at an inopportune moment, then the worst that could happen is that they come up to the front door again. But if to the contrary…either a practiced mage, by sheer coincidence, chose the land next to yours, or our enemies have found us."

Words rose with a tinge of panic, and the swell of noise threatened to bounce off the walls. Sonia silenced them all with an immediate call to attention.

"Continue, Shadow Hawk," she muttered tersely.

"Thank you, Madame Sonia. The best course of action, I believe," he said as he drew up a sheet of paper and blotted his quill, "is to keep a watch posted. The Brothers Reed inspected the barrier yesterday, yes? They would have reported any visible issues with it, but they should be sent out again with a mage to make sure if the problem is not as obvious as to merely present cosmetic changes. These so-called neighbours aren't too far off…so an observer or two ought to be able to monitor them well enough. Their hours can be decided upon later. Should they indeed turn out to be an enemy faction, then the question arises as to how they managed to find this location, and what their plans are."

"Is the latter not quite obvious?" Grentz sneered, stroking the length of his cravat.

Teodor, who thankfully was not so easily baited into disagreements, shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"What do you mean 'perhaps not?' We've detected their movements, so it makes perfect sense to strike now, lest they catch us unawares later!"

"We cannot know for certain without a definitive confirmation. The most reasonable option is to wait and see. Impulsivity has jeopardised the Fang's plans before, so our next course of action must prioritise keeping our secrecy intact."

The last sentence was a pointed reminder of Grentz's role in a spectacularly disastrous blunder that revealed the takeover of the Black Fang to the League of Eight, a meddlesome bunch of do-gooders who similarly worked from the shadows, and whose interference had cost them dearly more than once. Grentz slunk back into his chair with a scowl. It took the better part of a year for the Fang to regroup properly after that incident, and another to reshuffle their strategies back on the designated course. Sonia's glare warned Grentz against further outbursts. He understood the hint and kept mercifully quiet.

"If I may be so bold as to speak, Madame," Ursula spoke up with a fawning simper, "I am deeply worried over the possibility that we may have been infiltrated."

Silence brought their activity to a halt. Though this was clearly an attempt of Ursula's to show off, Sonia merely narrowed her eyes and nodded at her to hear more. Delight oozed out of Ursula's every pore; such open slavishness nearly prompted Sonia to roll her eyes. What a nuisance, to have to deal with that every single day of her life. Ursula was undoubtedly useful. She knew her place and recognised Sonia's authority, but the constant, positively fervent display of adoration was utterly nauseating.

Ursula's recitation was as inspidly exceptional as a schoolgirl reading from an Elimine psalter, thinking herself the class genius. "A mole within our ranks would explain the sudden presence of possible mages on our doorstep. I propose a check: we ought to see if anyone might have been afflicted by a listening spell they didn't catch beforehand, and if so, that lack of awareness can be forgiven. I, however, believe it is far more likely that someone is feeding our enemies information, so I volunteer myself to perform an interrogation."

"And why do you believe yourself to be up to the task?" Teodor questioned, bluntly yet not unkindly.

"B-because—" Ursula retorted with an ugly red flush to her face.

"It shall fall upon me," Sonia interrupted what would have undoubtedly become another one of Ursula's annoying tantrums. "I am more than capable of carrying it out because I shall deliver the results to our Master. However, this means that everyone will be confined to the house until further notice. Should we have a traitor in our midst, I will also make sure to _personally _carry out their punishment." She greatly enjoyed the immediate silence following her words. Despite how irritating their presence was, Sonia knew the Fang took her quite seriously—threats of violence from her end were never just threats, but promises. And she knew how to make good on them in the most effective ways possible.

Previous members like that oaf Jan were lucky to even still be alive.

A blinding flash of light in the corner alerted them to the activation of a warp circle. Sonia shielded her eyes with a scowl. What on earth could have been keeping the other two from arriving in a timely fashion—

Lana, known under the moniker of 'Red Fox,' stumbled out of the magic circle, sinking under the weight of her wounded companion. Now that came as a total surprise. Jaffar was one of their best, if not deadliest, agents. To witness him completely unconscious and soaked in blood meant someone (or something) incredibly powerful managed to waylay them with a sound beating.

"Great gods!" shrieked Kenneth, one of the louder bloviators, once he saw what happened.

Teodor stayed calm and collected. Yet he too tensed at the sight of blood. "Is he dead?"

"N-no," Lana gasped from beneath her deadweight. Grentz, smirking lothario that he fancied himself, graciously stepped in to assist her, rolling Jaffar off with naught but a second glance as he smoothly swept her up into his arms. "We were ambushed in the middle of the forest—oh for goodness' sake Pascal, let me _go_—"

"By who? Did you manage to catch a glimpse?" Sonia said immediately.

"I'm afraid not, milady, it happened so fast…but Jaffar stepped in to protect me from the worst of it. I didn't think we would make it on time…"

Sonia sighed. Truth be told, she harboured no love for Jaffar at all; the Master held him up as one of his most prized possessions, and Sonia was loath to admit how intensely her envy burned, despite not reaching the levels of malice reserved for Limstella. This certainly provided an opportunity to rid herself of another obstacle barring her way to the Master's side. On the other hand, even she could not dismiss Jaffar's value to the Fang. Losing him would mean losing a significant asset. And the Master would rage and let his fury be known in the event of such a blow, and because the Master was Sonia's priority above anything else, it simply could not come to pass.

So, with great reluctance, she grabbed Jaffar by the scruff of his neck. "I shall deal with this as well," she ground out, greatly put upon by the injustice of it all. "Feel free to take a short recess in the meantime." And with that, Sonia warped out of the chamber.

* * *

Nino toiled over the heat from the fire; the ladies of the house demanded a five course supper that evening, as they were hosting the entirety of the Fang's top membership.

"None of that peasant slop you usually churn out," Ursula had snickered that morning before she, Sonia and Limstella finished their preparations for their meeting.

So Nino rolled her sleeves up for a truly grueling day ahead. It meant having to mop and dust everything from top to bottom until every surface shone to the point of seeing her reflection in them. It meant raiding the pantry to see what foods could be stretched out for a party of twelve instead of five, and, seeing as how she came up short, prompted her to undertake one of her least favourite chores of all: slaughtering some of their animals.

The sight of blood never failed to make Nino sick. Though she ate meat and understood that taking away life was necessary to feed oneself, seeing blood, hearing the shrieks and screams of animals who understood the presence of a cleaver, and whose deaths she often fumbled due to lacking the strength and conviction for clean cuts, always meant she needed quite a bit of time to recover after the deed. Midday found her gasping away a veritable stream of tears over three chickens and a goose she spent a great deal of energy running after. Her arms were covered in scratches courtesy of the former.

The kitchen smelled delightful in spite of the abhorrent heat. Nino chose dishes that could be left to simmer in their pots without needing her constant attention: goose meat wrapped in cabbage leaves, cooking in their own juices along with potatoes and carrots; chicken stuffed with herbs; some bread rolls left to air out to achieve an acceptable crustiness before brushing them with butter and herbs, and for dessert, a honey cake baking alongside the chickens and some berries from the garden mixed with sugar for a compote. She wiped the sweat off her brow to sit down with a loud exhalation. All that was left to do before serving was to set the table, bring up some bottles of wine from the cellar, and—

Strident banging at the door brought her train of thought to an immediate stop. Nino positively jumped from fright. She ran to fling it open. To her utter shock, Sonia stood there with a crumpled, bloody heap in tow.

"Take care of this," she growled and flung it to Nino without so much as a second glance back. "If he dies then it's _your_ fault."

Nino could barely catch it—no, not an it, Sonia was talking about a _person_, a person seemingly at the brink of death and covered in _blood_ and the metallic scent alone was enough to make Nino's head swim dizzily—before the weight of Sonia's words crashed into her right after. "W-wait, what? He's_ dying?_ Madame Sonia, what's going—"

"Tonight is a very busy night for us and I'll not have you ruining it with your whining."

The door slammed shut on Nino's face. The young man in her arms was not very heavy, but he was much taller…and getting blood all over her. It was seeping into her clothes, smearing across her skin…Nino set him down as gently as possible before making a mad dash for the door so she could vomit on the grass.

So. She had to manage supper along with an injured man. Nino was not quite sure what would be more difficult: nursing him back to health and getting all his blood off, or facing Sonia's wrath in the event of not having their meal go as expected.

"Gotta start somewhere," she mumbled grimly to herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She propped the door open with a brick to help air the kitchen out, but not so much as to let the warmth escape. Blood was starting to pool on the floor too…so Nino fetched two pails, ran to the water pump to fill them up, and collected a bucket of ash soap and many spare towels. He would have to be treated there and then before moving him to her bed (more like a pitiful nest of newspaper and rags).

What was his name? She couldn't very well keep calling him 'young man' or 'boy' in her head all the time, but it would have to do. He truly was out cold. He breathed, but it came out weak and shallow, and the ragged sound sent a spike of fear through Nino's heart. Whoever he was, she could not bear the thought of his death. Killing a bird to eat felt bad enough.

Her family attempted to impart some of their wisdom to her on a few occasions—such lessons included wound care. A younger Nino used to watch closely as Father patched the boys up after missions or, in happier times, when their horseplay went too far, which was often. Nino remembered an episode where an impromptu wrestling bout resulted in Lloyd being thrown into a window. Father had run out to scold the boys for forgetting their strength again, only to find Lloyd's arm full of glass shards and his two other children howling in fright. And so he sat them down to calmly pull every single piece of glass out of Lloyd and explain the process of stitching the larger cuts, dressing the wounds, and monitoring them to avoid infection.

First things first…

Nino found a small paring knife to cut the boy's clothes off, wincing when they stuck to him in a few spots. Threads caught in the middle of an injury often proved to be a source of irritation, but rushing through the process could be just as detrimental. Nino had little time to focus on that when she had supper to consider as well. She avoided looking at his crotch as she finally managed to undress him and began to clean him. Dread built up steadily in her chest when he did not so much as stir at the feeling of Nino's harsh soap mix scrubbing away, not even when she remembered that alcohol could be employed as an antiseptic, and used a wine bottle from the cellar for the young man.

Finally washed, Nino could gauge the severity of his state without his clothes and blood in the way—she fought down the urge to retch at the sight of three large gashes across his stomach, a cut along his hairline that contributed to a great deal of the blood she cleared off, and a jagged scratch on his left bicep. All needed stitching but thankfully only one seemed to be quite deep.

_Never use regular thread for wounds,_ her father's gravelly voice reminded. _That will leave fibres stuck in the skin and can cause serious issues later on. Sinew will set better and dissolves on its own after a few days._

So Nino ran to the meat dependency. On the rare days that the ladies of the house were in the mood for goat, Nino would take the animal to market and have a butcher kill it for her as well as pack its flesh and organs for the ride home. The meat house on the property had several barrels set aside specifically for the purpose of preserving offal; Nino held her breath as she stuck her arm into one such container and pulled out a length of intestine. She washed off its sliminess at the water pump before returning to the kitchen, and used the paring knife to cut it into what she hoped were sufficiently thin strings. Satisfied when they were successfully threaded into a needle (Nino kept a sewing kit in the kitchen just in case), she set about closing the young man's wounds, stitch by stitch.

_Come on…just a little more, _she urged herself. The day was passing too fast for comfort. Supper would come any moment now. Nino whined when a pot in the hearth began to whistle insistently, so she had to abandon her charge to take it off the fire, check its contents to make sure nothing had burned, and begin to plate it. Her eyes kept returning to the boy's deathly prone figure as she did the same for another pot.

The chicken and desserts could be left alone for a while longer. She returned to the young man's side to finish closing him up, and from there, she grasped him by his wrists and began to pull him, agonisingly slow, to her makeshift bed. Nino was left extremely winded once she finally managed it.

But then, the sunlight in the windows suddenly dimmed.

"Oh _no!"_ Nino gasped. "I-I'll be right back," she promised to the youth's unhearing ears as she hurried to the dining room.

Thankfully the cutlery and tablecloth were stored in a drawer beneath the sideboard, so it meant less running about for the moment. She made sure that her hands, not quite spotless from hours of cooking and clearing away blood, did not transfer even a speck of their grime to the cloth's white fabric or the good silverware (for entertaining guests on the rare occasion they came). Then she set up the candlesticks, napkins, plates and glassware. A quick rest against the wall was needed before returning to the kitchen. From there, she gathered up the first few dishes and swept a cursory glance over the young man before making the journey back.

And so she repeated the process until the dining room positively swam with the scent of food. Nino's exhaustion dragged her limbs down terribly, and she was sure of her imminent collapse. She still had to wait on the Fang as they dined…if she so much as blinked at the wrong moment then Sonia might even give her a tongue-lashing then and there—

Oh, the boy was still back in the kitchen! How could she have forgotten? Nino's head pounded almost as hard as her heartbeat as she knelt down to give him a once-over. Though the bleeding was staunched and his injuries stitched up, his mutilated body looked so weak, so frail. He lay there inertly no matter how hard Nino prodded. His breath came out in laboured little puffs…

Tears welled up, unbidden, in Nino's eyes, and she desperately wondered what it would take for him to open his own.

Nino was startled by the piercing ring from a bell. That was her cue to begin serving supper, and she cursed herself for not having arrived before the ladies when her role was to assist them. Would Sonia berate her in front of everyone? Sentence her with additional work as punishment? Whatever Sonia chose, Nino tried to brace herself as best she could for the consequences, praying that her brothers would not be amongst present company.

She threw on the cleanest apron she had and hoped it would be enough to disguise her filthy clothes, mindful of the image needed to present towards guests. "I'll be back again," she whisper-promised to the air, sucking in a shaky breath as she walked towards the lions' den.

"You're late," Sonia hissed. Curiously enough, she left it at that, allowing Nino to pull out the present company's chairs and drape napkins over their laps. A man with a meticulously groomed moustache and goatee winked at her, but Nino missed it as she moved to serve the first course.

Sonia was unhappy. The lines of her body coiled with unspent energy, restless, fierce tension pulling her skin taut around her face and hands. Nino understood the need to keep mum for the moment. She only moved when addressed and stood obediently in a corner if the party did not require her. A storm cloud hung over the assembly despite the generous spread, matching Sonia's tempestuous mood, and when the head of the table spoke, it was as if sparks flew from her lips. Nino paid little attention to the words—her thoughts were currently divided between the battered victim fighting for his very life in the kitchen, and desperately wanting to perform as well as Sonia needed her to.

"I do not mean to come across as impolite, Madame Sonia, but you cannot be serious about this," the moustached man said, scoffing lightly.

"How unfortunate for you that you are," she retorted immediately. Nino swore she could almost sniff out iron wafting from her skin. "I don't joke about anything, Grentz. Ever. No one is to leave the place until we have everything under control, and that will only happen when I declare it so. I do not like having to repeat myself."

"Of course, my lady. I meant no harm in it."

"See to it that you never," Sonia snapped, and held out her goblet to have Nino refill it with wine.

She was very, very lucky no one noticed that particular bottle had already been opened, Nino realised with a shiver, after decanting another. Ursula kept an eagle's eye trained on their supplies. Anything even remotely out of place would result in her flying throughout the house in a fury, demanding to have the culprit's head for daring to tamper with their stores, and Nino wondered what on earth possessed her to steal anything at all.

Thankfully, supper went on without any major incident. The party finished all the food down to the last crumb. They asked for a nightcap…then a second…then a third. It was quite late by the time soft snores filled the house, with the Fang having fallen asleep in various states of sobriety in the parlour. It made Nino's job a bit easier, not having to deal with all their noise as she washed off their dirty plates, packed the silverware back in place, removed the good tablecloth and completed the rest of her chores in a tired daze. The kitchen looked just as she left it…and the boy resting on her pitiful nest as pale as before. All she could do at that point was trudge to his side and stare.

It was difficult to determine his age; the fire provided little light, and all it did was throw his stitches and old scars into sharp, yet shadowed relief. He could not have been much older than her, and he was already so bruised and battered by life.

The thought brought a fresh round of salt to Nino's eyes.

"Please, please, please," she said to no one. Nothing stopped the tears from flowing freely this time. Her fatigue was far too great at that point for her to care. Briefly, she mused over sneaking into the potions lab to steal a vulnerary for him, which would be far more effective than soap, or a bottle of wine—did anything she try even have a chance to save him? What if her efforts had all been for naught? What if she only made things _worse?_

"Stupid, stupid Nino," she mumbled as she sank to her knees. Terrible thoughts full of loathing and worry and mortal fear clouded her mind, exacerbating her weakness, and she was barely conscious of lying down to drape herself over the boy's chest.

"Please don't die…I don't know who you are, or what your name is, or what happened to you, but everyone deserves a chance to stay alive, don't they? And…and M-Madame Sonia…throwing you like that…seemed so cruel…" Nino's words ended in a yawn.

She lay there, half between the waking world, halfway to a sleeping state sure to bring nothing but nightmares and dread, holding on the tiniest sliver of hope that the youth would live.

Time crawled on. Crickets chirped in the grass outside.

And then, completely unknown to the pair sleeping by the fire's side, a soft white glow spread out over scarred skin, reaching deep into flesh and bone and guts, soothing the hurt away until air filled the boy's lungs and was expelled with a soft, tired breath.

* * *

newmrsdewinter: i know it's a grim situation, but it's lowkey hilarious that nino is rushing like she's on Chopped while stitching up Jaffar

me: the Chopped comparison had me HOWLING

newmrsdewinter: LMAO you used the word 'plating' and it immediately gave me Chopped vibes

me: alton brown staring on as nino cries into her duck confit

I promise that the next chapter is actually going to be much more optimistic! I have so many plans for FLUFF! Stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask and please keep good social distancing etiquette!


	7. In the Kitchen's Safety (Lavender Rose)

Good god October already and the year keeps giving us more and more of…whatever this is. I've lost all notion of time, signed myself up for a Big Bang and am considering splurging a good amount of my savings on a cat tree. Thank goodness for Lindsay Ellis and Netflix at least.

* * *

Raw dryness burning Nino's throat roused her so early that not even the barest threads of watery grey pre-dawn light breached the window's threshold. The trip to the water pump would be a cold one. She worried over which rag to use as a shawl, as none of them were thick enough to protect her from the chill. But the warmth beneath her, firm and unyielding and pleasant, made her jolt up in surprise.

_He's alive!_ Nino gasped.

The tell-tale sound of constant, even breathing brought a fresh round of tears streaking down her cheeks in stinging trails. But then the feeling of dried blood became apparent—crusty, itchy, coarse _awfulness_ that rubbed and chafed in all the worst ways against her already dirty skin. Nino fought the urge to retch but could not contain a disgusted squirm. The movement disturbed the young man, a whispery groan twisting his mouth into a pained bow.

"Ack! I'm so so so sorry, I didn't mean to do that! I'm sorry! I–I didn't hurt you, did I? Oh, I must have, I'm sorry!" Nino immediately began to fuss. Just his luck, to be plucked from death's threshold but then subjected to a careless girl's manhandling! Her hands hovered uncertainly over the young man as she carefully manoeuvred herself off him. The indecency! The thoughtlessness!

Another groan, louder, accompanied the listless roll of his head. Nino noticed the barest hint of a tongue swiping almost tentatively between dry, cracked lips.

Nino jumped to a stand. "I–I'll go get you some water, don't worry," she promised, throwing on the nearest rag before bracing herself for the early morning.

Dew glimmered on the grass; though the weather had been sunny as of late, the air promised humidity in the future, a coy hint of a sultry summer to come. Quite the contrast to the freezing cold Nino shivered her way through as she sprinted to the pump. Her chapped hands closed over the iron lever and she forced her rapidly numbing limbs to work the pump to life. Thankfully, it took little effort for water to spout into the waiting bucket, and Nino was mindful to not splash as she ran-walked back into the kitchen.

She was suddenly struck by a far-off memory of Brendan smiling as a younger Nino frolicked, barefoot, in the grass. She told him how she enjoyed its pretty shine on the lawn, and how nice it felt beneath her feet, and wouldn't it be lovely if they could string together some beads of dew for a necklace, or some earrings, or maybe even a ring?

'_I'll be sure to find you something even prettier than dew,'_ he had promised.

Nino could not begrudge water for simply existing, but feeling it soak into the thin soles of her shoes only reinforced the melancholy longing for her father.

The heat from the banked fire was a welcome relief from the chill. Her charge (could she call him that?) scarcely stirred at the loud thunk of the bucket being set down, and though Nino was relieved that the noise did little to disturb him, it spoke to his condition. He would live, but he needed careful supervision to see him through. She would never forgive herself if he succumbed to an infection that developed under her watch. And once he woke, she would definitely ask for his name.

But wait…the law of the Fang. _Sacrifice the wounded to salvage the strong._

Nino paused. The Fang was built around the principle of using its strength to save the downtrodden from the abuses of the nobility. Mercy, however, was not something so easily extended towards members who could no longer pull their weight. _'It's obviously not an easy decision to make, Nino, but remember this: our mission comes first. Sometimes we have to cut our losses to make that happen,'_ Brendan's words echoed in her head.

But that begged the question: why would Sonia charge her with saving this young man? Was he so important that flying in the face of Fang law was deemed necessary? If so, why subject him to such rough treatment before, practically throwing him to Nino as if he were trash to be disposed of? What happened to wound him this badly? Did the others know about the situation? What about—

_Oh, if only Linus and Lloyd were here…they'd know what to do, not stupid me!_ Nino sniffled. She could never dream of lifting a finger against anyone. Killing a measly chicken for supper was hard enough, but being caught violating Fang law would only prove just how useless she was. Sonia's actions were excusable as Brendan's successor, and she surely had a very good reason for them, which is why Nino could not afford to ruin this for everyone. Even so, a reassuring word from Linus and Lloyd would be of great comfort at the moment.

Shaking her head, Nino fetched a small cup and dipped it into the bucket, sitting down by the youth's side. She took great care to move his head to face her. No, having him drink lying down would only choke him, she decided. So Nino gingerly rolled him onto his side, looped her hands through his arms, and pulled him up to rest against her. She tipped his head slightly back and pressed the cup to his lips.

"Drink up, that's it…you need lots of water and rest to get better."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Nino gave him more and he took it greedily, to her utter relief. A gusty sigh escaped him after a fifth cup of water, and Nino, sensing he was done, laid him back down on the nest of rags.

"There you go. That must feel much better, right? If you need anything else, let me know, okay?"

A faint snore was his reply, but Nino felt as though the weight in her stomach was beginning to finally ease up. She spared him one last glance as she readied the kitchen for the enormous breakfast the hungover Fang was sure to want.

Two loaves of bread, twenty boiled eggs, two jars of fruit preserves, three kettles of coffee, and an enormous leg of mutton later, Nino staggered back to the kitchen to clean the dirtied cutlery and plates and cloth napkins. Goodness. Cooking for the Fang was no easy feat, and while she missed Linus and Lloyd, she was secretly glad that they were not there to contribute with their own appetites. Afterwards meant checking the guest rooms to see if they were suitable enough for the other members. Then cleaning the house. If she had enough time, then she could try to draw up a list and ask for permission to go to St. Gallen. Market day had scarcely been only two days prior and already the unexpected company threatened to deplete their stores of food. Having no one but herself to take care of the household chores was so very very taxing…

_At least he's doing better._ Nino looked away from the wash basin to the boy's prone figure, sleeping peacefully by the fire. His skin had turned from a ghastly bloodless grey to a healthy olive, and her clumsy stitching thankfully did not pull against the rise and fall of his chest. Even if the question of food was looking a bit dire at the moment, she hoped he would wake soon to eat, even if it would only be a small nibble.

_I wonder what he likes…I don't think I can give him anything more complicated than bread or some porridge, but once he's strong enough to sit up on his own, maybe some fried eggs? Eggs are also nice on porridge. I can make him a nice big bowl and add eggs, and then maybe some berries for dessert. What about drinking? We've got clean water but milk goes better with porridge. But what if he doesn't like any of that? I don't have any more chicken to use for soup—oh, his eyes are a really nice colour._

Nino blinked.

The boy blinked back.

Startled, Nino jumped, thoroughly embarrassed at having been caught staring. Sudsy water splashed violently as the movement threatened to upset the basin and its fragile contents, though she was much too surprised to pay attention. Not when the youth had finally awoken!

"H-hello," she said a little breathlessly. "You're finally awake! Thank goodness…"

"You…I know you…" he muttered.

Ignoring the wet floor, Nino rushed to him, patting down his stitches with a critical once-over. "You–you do?"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

Piercing red eyes—the colour of fresh blood, a ripe apple's skin, exotic Ostian velvet—peered into hers intently. Too closely. It was as if he was trying to root something out from within her deepest secrets, and Nino almost shrank back from such intensity. "Have you forgotten the law of the Fang? 'Sacrifice the wounded to salvage the strong.'"

"That's not…"

"You should have obeyed the law: killed me, and then fled. Yet you didn't. Why?"

The last thing Nino expected was to have her charge, still recovering from near-fatal injuries, reproach her from his sick-bed. Did he welcome the prospect of death? Or was this merely devotion to the Fang's code, as befitting any self-respecting member? But then how would that explain Sonia's instructions?

"W-well," she began to say. "Sonia brought you here, actually."

"You should have killed me all the same."

Nino should have, but could she?

When dealing with chickens, or buying meat from a butcher, Nino did it with the understanding that it meant food, sustenance to keep oneself alive and nourished. But what did it mean to slay a human? No one ate people (as far as she knew). People…well, people lived with one another. A flock of chickens coexisting did not register the same way that a village or a town or a city did, to Nino's understanding; chickens did not have doctors who worked to heal others. They did not have bakeries to share bread and pastries with others, churches to pray together in, or grow flowers in gardens for the sole purpose of enjoying them. Father said that the Fang was for the people and by the people. Surely that was enough to justify such transgressions?

"I couldn't just…let a comrade die," was all Nino could muster in the end.

His scrutiny rivalled Sonia's, a comparison she hated to make, but it was apt. Nino quailed at the thought of his scolding matching Mother's, cursing herself yet again for allowing heedless impulsivity to get the better of her. Father would be so disappointed as well. What would Linus and Lloyd say if—no, once they found out?

To her relief, the young man merely sighed. "You're a fool. This is only a scratch." But his mutter was half-hearted, and she detected no hostility in those intriguing eyes of his.

Nino offered a wobbly smile. "What's your name?"

"…Jaffar."

"W-well Jaffar, I'm Nino! It's nice to finally meet you."

* * *

Nino. Nino. Nino. Jaffar mulled over the name. Rolled it around his mind's tongue in a secret approximation of speech, tentatively practicing at saying it aloud. He would have to soon enough.

She—_Nino_ certainly had little difficulty in using his own name. Constantly, in fact. A sort of dam seemed to have broken within her and swept away her initial shyness, revealing a talkativeness Jaffar was completely unused to in, well, anyone. She chattered about anything and everything: the dishes and cutlery she finished washing after fussing over his wounds, going back to some more fussing; explaining the outside noises as the animals kept on the property (when did someone like Sonia accept to live near poultry and goats? Sonia hated animals), and the list of chores she had to finish for the day.

"I'll be right back after this, okay? I just gotta serve lunch," Nino said, inordinately cheerful as she balanced trays towering with food.

Jaffar replied with a grunt as he watched her teeter out the door and barely manage to close it with her foot.

Kitchen. Nino said this place was the kitchen. The warm atmosphere, redolent with the scent of cooked food, made his stomach rumble. How utterly inconvenient. Things would be so much easier were he not subjected to the annoyance of human troubles such as eating, sleeping, relieving oneself, and recovering from injury or illness. Master said he was a weapon, after all. Weapons should have no need for such things. But Jaffar was only human, miserably so at that, and he needed to lay low and regain his strength if he was to return to Master's summons soon.

A bubbly pop turned Jaffar's attention to a small pot hanging over the fire, simmering with an oat porridge Nino made for him. How did she find the time for it with the hundreds of other tasks she was burdened with? He saw her scamper out the kitchen to serve the Fang breakfast, tend to the livestock and gardens, clean, and answer Sonia's or Ursula's insistent calls. Were there no others to keep the house? Master had many servants for many sorts of things. Granted, they were merely mindless automatons built to service Master's needs, but they were servants all the same, constantly bustling about to maintain Master's books, wine, wardrobe, and so on and so forth. Jaffar knew Sonia coveted them, but why not employ her vast magicks to make minions of her own?

Then came the shock of seeing Brendan's girl in such a state. The last time Jaffar was sent to Sonia was years ago, when she was still based in Glarus. Brendan Reed, alive and well, made only the barest gestures to acknowledge Jaffar, unhappy with Master's hand creeping steadily closer. He would excuse himself away in an effort to not endure the sight of Sonia's head bowed in deep absorption, greedy for Jaffar's deliverance of Master's word.

That is, unless it came to the girl.

_It was by sheer accident that Jaffar found Nino—he always exited out the back to ensure maximum secrecy in his dealings. The house in Glarus gave way to a spacious meadow bursting with flowers in a dizzying array of colours, and the girl he now knew as Nino ran through the thick of it with wild abandon, paying no mind to the large grass stains on her white dress. Then she sat down after tiring and busied herself with making flower crowns. _

_There was but a single tree to take refuge behind. Surprised at another's presence, pure instinct forced him on the defensive, not allowing himself to relax despite the girl not knowing he was there. Nino was content in her own little world, humming a little nonsense tune as her fingers deftly wove stems together. She would occasionally frown if a flower seemed out of place, or if she decided to use a different colour in a crown, but otherwise the smile on her face never seemed to waver, never truly troubled at all. _

_Jaffar had been so fascinated._

"_She's a sight for sore eyes, isn't she?"_

_Memory-Brendan stood tall as he watched Jaffar, whose instinct again kicked in to force him up the tree in a giant leap, dagger drawn. Brendan's sons snickered but their father shushed them immediately. _

"_Father!" Memory-Nino had looked up from her spot in the tall grass, running to the Reeds once she caught sight of them. She hugged Brendan tightly around his middle. "You're back early!" _

"_That we are, sweetheart. We figured it would be best to come home before starting the next mission. And we can stay longer too, since we've got jobs mostly in the area." Brendan's gaze turned fond, running his fingers through Nino's long, loose hair and then cupping her cheek softly. _

"_Father, that's great! I really missed you all so much…I've been practicing at cooking so now we can eat together, and maybe we can make a pie tomorrow! I found a lot of berry bushes by the river and they're really really sweet, and I checked that they're not poisonous, because Mother says berries are sometimes pretty dangerous. And we can play with the ball again because I stitched it up! Or maybe we can try to find the wild ponies again, because I saw that they had new foals with them and they were so cute, please can we?"_

"_Those all sound wonderful. But first thing you ought to do is start small and go wash up with the boys before supper, alright?"_

"_Yes Father. Oh, who were you talking to before?"_

"_Just myself. Don't worry about it."_

"_Okay," Nino giggled. She began to ramble to the brothers over flower crowns and horses and games, shrieking with laughter when one of the boys tossed her up on his shoulders and started to run around. _

"_Everyone," Brendan sighed. "Go inside now." _

"_Yes Father," they chorused, trooping inside obediently._

_Jaffar dared not move a single muscle. Brendan, satisfied that the children were out of earshot, looked back up at Jaffar—at the stranger intruding upon them, _Present-Jaffar had realised. _Brendan's eyes had changed, from a relaxed softness reserved for his brood, to a hard, stony coldness. The eyes of a man sizing up an opponent. _

"_I don't know what Sonia's up to or what your relationship with her is. I won't be able to dig too deep anyways. But if I see you anywhere near my kids again, I won't hesitate to hurt you. My daughter is especially off limits. Understood?" Brendan growled, simply but bluntly. _

_Jaffar nodded. _

"_Good. Now scram before I make you leave myself." _

Years later, Brendan Reed was dead, Sonia had the run of the Fang, and Jaffar now found himself with said daughter. Jaffar hardly gave himself to musing, but the current circumstances seemed a touch unbelievable. He was almost always at Master's side, but as Sonia's cohort found itself in one mess after another, Master sent him to keep watch over them instead; Sonia disliked him greatly. The last month or so had been spent patrolling the nearby lands and sleeping rough, loathe as Sonia was to admit him in her presence. And yet she required him and the others, given the emergency meeting called.

But who knew enough of the Fang's movements to ambush him and Lana?

Nino's reentry interrupted Jaffar's thoughts. "Everyone's eating now, and I'm sure you must be hungry too! Good thing the porridge is done."

"I'm not hungry," Jaffar said.

The girl's smile faltered ever so slightly. Why did it feel so strange to see? "Oh…b-but…well, maybe you don't feel hungry, but it's still a good idea to eat, you know? You've been hurt and food will help make you feel much better sooner. A healthy body is a working body!"

She raised a salient point. "If you say so."

Beaming, Nino produced a bowl and ladled a generous portion of steaming hot porridge into it, dashing to find a spoon before returning to kneel before Jaffar. "Can you sit up by yourself?"

Jaffar, to his immense frustration, could, but the measly movement took far more energy than necessary, leaving him tired and panting against the hearth's outer wall. Nino frowned and exclaimed sad little platitudes, setting the bowl down to hover anxiously.

"You should take it easy and not move any more than necessary, please." She gnawed her lip. "Don't worry. I'll feed you myself."

"That will just make me more of a burden than I already am."

"N-no, you're not being a burden, not at all. You just need some help and I'm here for it, so please don't say things like that. You're never a burden."

Jaffar grunted, too exhausted to keep arguing, yet not trusting Nino to understand the logic of his situation. It would only go nowhere in the end. He needed to recuperate and await further instructions from Sonia, the current direct line to Master, but every second spent in the girl's company only proved more and more unnerving. Why insist so strongly on looking after him? Did she even know what Brendan's last (and only) words to him were? And, as a member of the Black Fang, why balk at even the thought of upholding one of its most important directives?

"Here, start while it's still hot," Nino wheedled, holding up a spoonful of steaming porridge. "I didn't know if you prefer yours plain or with eggs or herbs or all of those things—oh no, what if you don't even _like_ porridge, what am I even _doing_—"

"This is fine," Jaffar said.

"O–okay."

She blew slightly on the food and held it up to Jaffar's mouth, bringing the bowl a little ways beneath it to catch any drippings as she watched him closely. Hopefully, even. Why would it matter if he liked it or not? Master and the others never took things such as preferences into account in their dealings with him, and Jaffar never expected them to because it did not matter. Jaffar was but a weapon. Fulfilling human needs was the barest standard necessary to keep him functioning, whereas 'preference' could only ever amount to a trifle at best and a distraction at worst. Master told him as much. Jaffar never had to ponder such a question until today.

The porridge was hot, but did not burn his tongue—rather, it warmed him down to his very toes. He did not know how to describe the following sensation, other than his body doing the talking by leaning towards the emptied spoon as Nino pulled it away.

Her eyebrows rose. "Would you like some more?"

"…Yes."

Nino' smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. In spite of her tattered clothes, dirty skin, and ragged short hair, Jaffar caught a glimpse of the laughing girl that haunted his dreams from so long ago.

* * *

Jaffar spoke little: he communicated mostly through grunts or terse movements, but when he did talk, his words were clipped to the point of monotony. Nino did not mind. Jaffar was a very good listener whose close attention soon assuaged her fears of boring him or, worse, annoying him. Ursula made it a frequent point to announce just how grating she found Nino's voice. Jaffar, though obviously bemused at the situation (his chastisement over Fang law notwithstanding), proved to be an exceedingly polite patient. Not that he said his 'pleases' and 'thank yous' out loud.

There was also something so terribly refreshing about keeping his company. Linus and Lloyd leaving for large stretches of time left Nino very very lonely; Jaffar's state, though certainly not ideal, meant someone to simply _be_ with. Sonia and Ursula stressed the importance of her keeping quiet and out of sight unless she was given orders, and working around the house left precious little time to herself. Nino realised that this could possibly mean making her very first friend ever.

_Oh, don't go around getting your hopes up like that…how selfish do you have to be anyways, thinking about yourself when you've got someone depending on you! _she scolded herself.

Jaffar's wounds seemed to have no traces of any lingering poison, though he could not remember much of the fight nor if his assailants carried poisoned weapons. Nino still looked over the sutures thrice for the tell-tale signs of necrotising tissue, a foul smell, pus or suspicious discharge. She took a bundle of yarrow from the herbal shed to prepare as a poultice but decided against using some of her rags to bind Jaffar's largest gash. He needed proper clean bandages for that, not her sooty cast-offs.

That meant having to ask one of the ladies of the house for access to the medical stores. The herbal supplies were already difficult enough, but some leeway was allowed as Nino gathered and dried a good deal of the ingredients they used for potions and spells. Medicine, however, was jealously guarded in the house. Surely they could spare a single vulnerary for Jaffar? Nino thought as she walked towards the house in search of the women.

"Absolutely not," Ursula guffawed. "Shouldn't you get on to more urgent things, like tonight's supper?"

"It would really help Jaffar, Miss Ursula…" Nino mumbled, eyes downcast in meek submission.

"And why should we waste resources on someone who, according to the Fang's code, should have been left for dead? You know how expensive those things are, and the time involved in making them. Goodness, I don't know how many times I have to keep explaining simple concepts to the cinder-girl…"

"Let her have them," came Sonia's moody mutter from the parlour's largest sofa.

Ursula blanched. Sonia, hunched over a thick book with a silver lorgnette in hand, scoffed at her underling's pause. The head of the household had been strangely reserved since the day before and no one knew what to make of it just yet. Between the newly imposed restrictions, the sudden summons to the house in the first place, and whatever other Fang business running in the background, Nino at least had the sense to keep quiet and not prod any further. Sonia's word was law, but the palpable tension rolling off her cast a certain shade over her previously unflappable airs.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, Ursula." Sonia turned a page without even looking at them. "These are orders from even higher up and we're to honour them. If you don't care to understand then I suppose that means you need to have a refresher."

As Ursula babbled a thousand rapid-fire apologies, Nino curtsied to them both. A relieved smile broke out against her face. "T-thank you very much, Madame Sonia, Miss Ursula."

"If you've such a need for them then go and get them already," Sonia groused in return.

The medicinal cellar lay adjacent to the wines—underground storage kept their more delicate concoctions away from sunlight, insects and pests, and the damp. Bandages were stored at the very forefront of the darkened room. Nino picked those first and packed them into her apron's pouch as she navigated to the back with the help of a candle. Satisfied with the single vulnerary allowed, she marched back up the stairs and out the dining room to the kitchen's familiar brick walls.

"I'm back! Sorry it took so long, but I got you some things for your wounds. You'll be feeling much better in no time!" Nino announced to Jaffar.

"I need to piss," he responded.

"O–oh."

Well, it was only natural for people to have those needs…but he was a young man. Father always stressed that, once she and her brothers hit a certain age, they could no longer share a room, much less be around each other when bathing or using a chamber pot. But Jaffar was in her care. Even sitting up proved to be taxing. Leaving him to his own devices hardly seemed like the fair thing to do given his current state.

As if having read her mind, Jaffar said "leave a bucket or anything else here by my side. I can just roll over to use it."

"But—"

"It's fine. The food helped."

Nino mutely produced a spare bucket and resolutely turned her back to him as she set about cutting the yarrow from before on the table. She tried not to think about the new realisation that she was sharing her space with a _boy_, busying herself with the poultice; grabbing a pestle and mortar, Nino poured a few thimblefuls of water into the container before grinding the yarrow into a silky paste. Oh, if only Father or her brothers were here, they would prove such a big help for such a confusing situation.

"Oh _no!"_ Nino suddenly gasped.

"What happened?" Jaffar's question went unintentionally ignored.

_I totally forgot to visit Father yesterday night! What if something happened to the stone that one time I wasn't there? And now it's getting dark! If I don't get a move on then I won't get supper finished on time, and then everyone else'll be mad, and I'll have to stay up later to fix it and I'll miss Father's visit _again_ and then—_

"What happened?" he repeated.

"Sorry, I-I-I wasn't listening, I'm so sorry. I just…Jaffar, please don't be angry with me, but I need to leave your medicine for last, okay? I-I just have a lot to deal with right now…"

Jaffar blinked. The minute gesture seemed oddly out of place on him. "Why would I be angry with you?"

Then she blinked. _Why wouldn't you be?_ Nino did not say.

"UUhhhm…I…I need to get started on the food…" she trailed off nervously, setting the herbs aside to try and drum up a last minute meal. Their pantry would last them through the weekend, but with the new guests over, it would mean at least three or four shopping trips to town instead of the usual weekly one. Twelve people (without Linus and Lloyd!) to a cook was a daunting obstacle ahead. Hopefully Sonia would grant her permission for a larger grocery allowance, but arranging more rides to St. Gallen without interfering with Nino's usual schedule would prove to be difficult. What to do, what to do…

Supper was uneventful and unremarkable, thankfully enough; a small comfort for Nino as she tried to wash the dishes as fast as possible. Jaffar refused more food. Tired or not, missing a night with her father was something she could never allow to happen again, but when she finally made the trip to the hazel tree, Nino suddenly found herself at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry Father…a lot's happened lately…" Nino yawned, afraid that attempting to explain last night's absence would only bring her to tears. Leaning against the tree instead of talking brought some measure of peace. She could imagine her father nodding in stoic understanding. If she pretended hard enough, firm, warm muscles replaced tree bark, as if sitting down with Brendan to enjoy the night together instead of lamenting his absence for the last few years. Oh, if only, if only.

_Can't risk falling asleep here though,_ she sighed, trudging back to the kitchen.

Jaffar lay wide awake. "Where did you go?"

"It's kind of hard to explain right now…" Blinking away stray tears, Nino toed off her badly worn mules and set them by the door. All she wanted was a nice long night of deep, dreamless sleep. Not having to dwell on all her worries even during rest would be ideal.

Bu Jaffar was using her nest at the moment. She was not so heartless as to turn away a convalescent from some measure of comfort, especially not when he still needed treatment. Nino brought out the yarrow paste but hesitated when she saw him coil up tensely. "If it hurts you tell me, alright? It shouldn't sting too much but I don't want to make you feel bad."

"Ah." He blinked. Why did that look so strange on him? "It won't…it won't hurt."

"Still…"

Was this newfound awkwardness due to feeling shy around her? Nino wondered. Maybe being half-clothed was too much exposure for him. Maybe close-quarters with a girl felt inappropriate—Father's warnings came to mind. The situation was no better for her, but Nino had to shrug off her doubts to give him the care he needed, daubing the paste gingerly onto stitched flesh. Jaffar's stomach contracted tellingly at her touch, but soon, his skin relaxed as she finished rubbing the needed dose for the day.

"I'm going to bandage you now to keep the medicine from drying out while you sleep, so I need to lift you a little for that," Nino explained apologetically.

Grunting, Jaffar supported himself on his elbows to allow Nino access to his back. She rolled the bandage over and under deftly and tied it off with a neat bow on his front. Nothing too cumbersome to prevent him from sleeping facedown if he so wished, and Nino patted it in satisfaction. She missed the surprised look on Jaffar's face.

"If you keep it easy like this, then you're sure to heal quick," Nino said, but ended the sentence on a loud yawn. "I ought to get some sleep too. Another big day ahead!"

"Where will you sleep?" Jaffar asked.

"I can just pop myself next to the fire. It's warm there, not so much under the table or on the floor."

"I'm taking your space here. It's placing an undue burden on you."

"Oh Jaffar, you really ought to stop saying that about yourself, you know? It'll be alright. You need it more than I do and it's not like I haven't slept there before, all I gotta do is just get myself some support and presto!" Nino balled her tattered apron under her head and slowly lowered herself onto it, staring up at the roof to maintain a proper position on the precarious little pillow. "That oughta do it."

A short huff was his only reply, but she smiled all the same. It felt as though they were coming to a tentative understanding, perhaps not as gracefully as she would have liked, but the first step was the most important one.

"I went to visit my father, since you asked," Nino whispered softly.

Jaffar's pause stretched out for what seemed an inordinately long time. "He was a very strong man. I have to admit it came as a shock to hear about his death."

"It _was_ a shock. No one saw it coming, but that's the risk of the job anyway…I still really miss him though. Did you know him?"

"…I saw him only once before."

So caught up in the thrill of sustained conversation that Nino easily missed the hesitancy dragging out Jaffar's words for longer than normal, barrelling forth (albeit quietly) with a long-winded summary of Brendan's exploits and praise for him, eager to transmit all his valour to her unwittingly captive audience. Then anecdotes of the Brothers Reed: their brashness, the unbridled gusto with which they wholeheartedly threw themselves into whatever came their way. Glarus, beautiful, sun-drenched Glarus, became the main focus of her stories. How the wind swept through long-tressed grass. Thunder rolling across the sky during the rainy season, or as hoofbeats from horses flying across the plains like the shrieking hawks keeping pace with them. Brendan taught Nino to recognise all sorts of horse patterns on a few excursions: piebald, skewbald, flea-bitten, roan.

The flowers were among her favourites, she confided. Rainbows dazzled the sky whenever they appeared but their fleeting impermanence could not compare to a meadow's palette. There were clovers, and purple thistles whose honey-rich scent beckoned bees to them, cheerful daisies and buttercups creating sunny swathes of yellow and white amongst the grass. Field poppies would brazenly push through the soil in a blaze of red, rubbing elbows with dainty pale blue cranesbills swaying in the breeze. Not even the painters whose stuffy landscapes decorated the house could have ever hoped to capture such brilliance.

"When the sun sets or rises there," Nino whispered to the ceiling, "it looks like the sky is on fire."

"Hrm," Jaffar grunted.

A crack from the chimney reminded her to bank the ashes for tomorrow; restarting even the smallest of embers often proved tiresome, especially with so many additional mouths to feed. The dimmed hearth still provided heat at least. It lessened the discomfort of lying on a hard ledge barely a few inches off the earthen floor. Jaffar's repose mattered more than a single night of backaches, and the better the care, the faster his recovery.

_As good as I can give, I guess_, Nino sighed wearily. "Sorry about that. I really dumped a bunch of nonsense out the blue, didn't I? Sometimes I forget myself and don't know when to stop, and Madame Sonia and Miss Ursula keep reminding me because it's—oh darn, what's the word—'unseemly.' S-so if you ever catch me rambling, or saying stupid things about flowers and ponies and food you go ahead and tell me to be q-quiet, okay?" You don't need to have me giving you an earful on top of your injuries and—"

"It's fine. I'm just not used to hearing others talk much."

"How come?"

"My missions are silent."

Perhaps that phrasing referred to him simply working alone, or undertaking some of the more dangerous activities the Fang carried out, secretive stuff even Brendan was reluctant to share with her. Whatever the case, Jaffar's tepid assurance heartened Nino.

"I'll be sleeping next to you, so wake me up if you need anything," she said cheerfully, settling back into her pitiful little apron-pillow.

"Alright."

What a day! The pair still could not quite make head nor tail of it; suddenly sharing close quarters with a stranger meant unknown territory to navigate, uncertain and unsure over the newness of their company, and the meaning of the current circumstances. Neither knew what the appropriate course of action was. Neither really felt like going to Sonia over it despite the common link she had between them.

One thing was sure despite no one knowing it at the time: that something, however small and frail, had begun to bloom.

* * *

Thanks to discord friends also because after this I uhhhh. What is even on my to do list again hahaha…well at least next chapter is Zephiel's!


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